Cover Boy (Stendan AU)
by Busman's Holiday
Summary: Multi-chapter Stendan AU. Brendan's an agent with a bad reputation. He's banned from so much as touching any of the models he manages. Then Steven Hay walks into his life. How long can he resist?
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary: Brendan's a model agent with a rapidly disappearing client list. He's got months to turn it around or he's out of a job and there's little else that will fund his heavy drinking and little black book of male models. But then he faces his biggest challenge, presented with hot new talent straight off the street: Steven hay and with his latest contract banning him from so much as touching a client, how long can he resist?**_

_**A/N: Originally this was going to be another part to my AU series but the length was getting big so I thought I'd make it into chapters of a new fic. I hope you enjoy. **_

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**Cover Boy**

Brendan's eyes scroll over the email attachment and he picks up the phone. "Yeah, put me through to Foxy, will you? I ain't got all day." Brendan can see the receptionist roll her eyes from where he has the blind pulled down with his fingers. He knows Warren isn't in a meeting and is slumped in his office, in a post-lunch doze, but no doubt she'll be screening all his calls anyway.

"Putting you on hold," Louise says and he's got a right mind to wrench open the door and give her an earful – only there's a pretty dotting of potential clients (and one ugly short kid) sat outside and he's already been giving a verbal warning for swearing at Louise. She knows full well why she was hired and that featured in one of his blue tirades.

Of course, he knows exactly why _he_ holds court at Foxy Modelling as their top agent too. Or at least, he used to know, before his bank took a solid thrashing from bar receipts and his client list had evaporated faster than you can say: blow job. He used to be at the top of his game. But now, far from being opposed to mixing work and pleasure, he finds the two make for a fun lifestyle. For a night at least. Anything more and it revolts him. Divas, princesses, vanity queens the lot of them. When pinching and biting and spanking are off the menu because they've got a cover shoot in the morning, then Brendan's the first to push them towards the exit – with or without their designer jeans.

And he doesn't even go near the women; that's just the male models.

Brendan doesn't wait for the plinky-plinky hold music, he smashes the receiver into its holder and strides out of his office and straight towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. Louise's mauve lips fall apart but she knows better than to cross him.

His palm drums the office door and he hears the chunky heave of Warren's voice telling him to come in. For someone who runs a modelling agency he's in a mess. Brendan's pretty sure yesterday's lunch has left a sticky scar on his shirt. Brendan, like always, is immaculate and trim in his suit. It only takes him a moment to realise why they're not in the opposite arrangement - him as boss. Warren's never fucked a model, never punched a photographer. He's just banged Louise and put a ring on her finger. And that's professionally acceptable. Fucking and forgetting models isn't.

"Let me guess," Warren says, minimising whatever's on his screen. "You've come about the new contract."

"You think?" Brendan says, unblinking. He shuts the door behind him and leans on his fists so he cranes over the table. "So you gotta babysit me now, is that it?"

"I've got a business to think about." Warren gestures to the swanky office block they sit in. It's the most influential northern modelling agency. Anyone loitering north of London with a beautiful face knows who they are. "It's a precaution."

"I read the fucking small print Warren," Brendan says his head tilting to the side. He knows that he scares Warren a little because he's wired differently – not just the gay thing, but he's unpredictable and Warren is anything but.

"You don't shit where you eat, Brendan. New rule." Warren stands across from Brendan, to the left, wall adorned with framed photo shoots of male models. "You want to know why you're losing me money? You're a liability. You fuck your way through the boys and you never call them. And if you do it's a proposition or a deal that says 'If you scratch my back I'll get you a billboard…'. D'you see what I'm saying?"

Brendan shakes his head and his eyes roll with it. His laugh is empty. "Bull. Shit." He may have promised a modelling job to some pretty git once but it was only because he was practically sex starved and he needed it.

"So, new contract new terms. Lay a finger on any of the latest intake and I'll make sure you never see another pay-slip again not here and not anywhere. Once your name's mud in this business no other company is going to want to touch you. So believe me when I tell you, Brendan, that if I find out you've so much as stuck your tongue down their throat then you're out."

Brendan scowls at the opposite wall, the one covered in images of women that don't even register so much as a flicker. "Give me the girls then. No danger there." He's twitchy now, some of the cockiness gone.

Warren's laughter rolls like a barrel down a hill. "Nice try Casanova but you know as well as I do that Nancy manages the girls. And, as in-touch with your feminine side as you are, Nancy's the best I've got and the girls feel safe with her."

Brendan wants to explode or walk out. He's already sick of this place and this city. He's stuck in this never ending rut and if he had friends or family in England then he'd fuck right off and start again. But he's got nothing and no one. It's how he likes it most of the time; the lone wolf; but other times it feels so suffocating, like a trap.

He leaves Warren's office in a storm, vaguely registering the reminder Warren calls out with, to explain that he's got the latest sign-ups coming in today. Brendan knows the ones in the corridor aren't his to worry about; they're for lower down the food chain – the spaghetti adverts and the chlamydia pamphlets. Later on he's got the country wide talent crop coming in.

He thought it was an urban myth at first, that idea of talent being spotted in the streets or at train stations, but then he started seeing the results. They're always the ones that look best in print, or runways or better still, spread out across his sheets. He's never cared much for the preened or pretty – the ones who walk in with sunglasses and shrunken t-shirts and shave until they look like sexless Ken dolls. Usually they're workshy and arrogant and lousy in bed. But the ones plucked by researchers, those who probably grew up in a terrace and expected to work in a garage – those he likes.

He likes to teach, for them to approach him with wide, eager eyes. Their first taste of the business in his hands. He likes inexperience and naivety. He likes tossing them to the lions and watching as they fall out of their depth, getting hurt and rejected. He likes to look after them and then, when it suits – leave them in the cold.

His mind drills over the last boring intake with their loafers and coloured chinos and scraggy beards and he thinks it over – that his lack of interest might be a help, that he won't be faced with temptation and won't be a risk to his job – when just then he collides, shoulders and heads knocking, with a lad that makes all thoughts vanish.

"Oi! Watch it, will ya?!" The lad smarts and places a hand across his forehead where they've bumped. His accent is as sharp as his frame.

Brendan can only see part of his face, the part not obscured by his hand, but it stops his determined path back to the office just to look at him. He lacks a hipster beard and as far as Brendan can make out, as the lad curses rubbing his head, he's got the cheekbones of an ice sculpture. The kind that would have girls gnawing at their cosmetic surgeon just to have a taste of. He's got a feline nose too, one that shoots up at the end like the curve of a spoon and eyes – when he gets to finally see them under a blanket of lashes – the blue of a painter's dream. He is, as bastard luck would have it, the most beautiful man he's ever seen. And even beautiful seems like a shy, pathetic compliment when he's seen thousands of faces given that title. This word to describe this lad hasn't been invented.

For Brendan, the idea that this lad has fallen into his lap comes with the crushing realisation that he's not a new recruit at all. He can't be. For starters his collar's upturned without irony and gold rings and a chain catch the light, matching the slouchy sheen of his tracksuit. He's decided straight away he's delivering a parcel or a lunch or is a sibling of one of Nancy's street selected. He must be the scabby younger brother of a girl signed up in a shopping mall.

He stands there staring for a moment, until the boy retracts his hand and is still brimming with confrontation. "You walked right into me!"

"You got eyes, ain'tcha? Shouldda seen me coming. I'm a busy man," he says, not with coldness, but a little authority. He doesn't ask the lad if he's okay, but steps into his space and brushes his fringe away to check for a mark. His skin's hot and there's a little bump where they hit. "I can get some ice for you." His voice digs low into the beginnings of a come-on. He imagines dabbing ice onto his skull, cold rivulets wetting his hair and making his skin look licked.

The lad pulls his neck away. "Nah, I got an interview."

"Flipping burgers?" The comeback comes as a surprise, a reaction to the rebuff.

He doesn't quite understand the joke and explains as if it's obvious. "Modelling."

Fucking hell, Brendan thinks and wishes he could rewind and erase the last five minutes. He lets his eyes close for a second, as if he can control time, and then asks – despite dreading the answer – "Right. Who are you here to see?"

The answer is as obvious as the question.

In an hour, the lad's sitting across from Brendan, a little purple at the temple and fidgety in the seat. Brendan is half turned away, the beginnings of a portfolio spread out on his knees. The boy's turned up in a tracksuit armed with an embarrassingly flimsy stationary wallet from a pound shop which holds the information he's been told to bring. There's a sheet of A4, lined, like it's been prized from an old school book and on it lists his groin-aching vital statistics written in his own handwriting. His name – Steven – which Brendan let's summersault over his tongue, is shadowed by big brackets and next to it the name he prefers: Ste.

Brendan removes some of the photos Steven's – he'll never call him Ste – brought with him, holding back the laughter at the bathroom mirror selfies. Still, whether in blurry light or a pouty reflection – the boy's got it. Whatever 'it' is.

"How's the head?" Brendan asks when he's spent long enough committing Steven's measurements to memory.

"I've 'ad worse." Ste looks around the office, eyes grazing across the magazine covers and the high end advertisements. His confidence shrinks slightly and Brendan takes to it like a cat and wool.

Brendan leans right back into his chair. "Where do you see yourself, then? Up there – on those covers?"

"Suppose. Not really thought about it. On the phone they just said to come and see – you know – if I'm good enough." Ste smoothes down the front of hooded top. "What do you think, then?"

Brendan smirks, he can't help himself. He eases himself out of the chair, the leather creaking as he does and moves over to Steven, his fingertips running over every surface on the desk. "Do you know how many boys I've seen this morning?"

Ste shrugs. He probably didn't notice the line of clones enter the office in straight-faced arrogance and leave with a flat expression of their dreams having been crushed.

"Fifteen. Fifteen Topman rejects, back-end of buses, posers and premium dickheads. And you…" He kicks Ste's chair so it spins in his direction. "Steven Hay." He hopes what he's giving off is an air of intimidation. The boy doesn't notice.

"Ste."

"Steven, you…" He thinks about coming over all Simon Cowell, false and sickly. "Ain't as feckless as I first thought. I think you can prove yourself."

"Serious?!" Ste sits up now, delight in his expression - his eyes shimmer from it. It's as if Brendan has already offered him a shiny cheque.

Brendan pulls back, folding his arms against his chest; he's not about to let this one run away from him in his eagerness. He needs taming, moulding. "You'll have to get some proper headshots done. We'll cover all bases: fashion, commercial and so on and so forth." He sits on the edge of the desk and if he just moves a slight inch their legs could touch. "We need to work out your fee."

Ste picks at his hands, threads of his bobbled hoodie. "Money's a bit tight right now n'that."

"We're not a loans company; I don't work pro-bono." Brendan sees he has no clue what pro-bono means and in that moment of Steven's naivety he considers that he would be willing to work free for this one except, ultimately, accepting sexual favours as payment wouldn't go down well. He can still hear Warren's warning clanging around his skull. It doesn't stop him wanting to undress Steven with his teeth.

He sees Steven ticking it over and over in his mind. Brendan knows how to push the right buttons to get what he wants. "It's a big decision, I get that. But under my management, you could make us a small fortune."

"Us?" Ste says and he colours a bit at the collar under a tacky gold chain.

"Sixty-forty," Brendan says, watching him blink listening to a reel of numbers. "Almost equal. Forty percent cut for you, sixty for me and the agency." He can see Ste studying him, taking in the designer suit, the expensive haircut and aftershave. "Forty percent is good, Ste. It's better than you'd get most places for being a beginner." Brendan looks up and sees Louise has left her desk so can't spy on him through the blinds, can't guilt him into resisting. He reaches out, holding Ste's face, examining it from side to side. He pretends to have a camera's eye, a designer's eye. He's got none of those things: he's a predator.

He hums his approval, patting Ste on the cheek and finally releasing him. His skin's marble smooth, silky warm. "This is gonna get you far," he says.

Ste sits awed and quiet, signing his life away.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for all the lovely comments so far and yes – the second part already! I've got a feeling you're going to like this one…

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Part 2

The welcome party for new recruits explodes with over indulgent canapés, served by women in miniature cocktail dresses, with champagne on tap. Warren doesn't throw any expense at the venue and they end up crammed into an upstairs conference suite at the agency. It's a busman's holiday. Brendan forces himself to slow down on the drinking; Warren's eyes are on him for a long period as he deliberates over what to drink. But even when Warren leaves early, fiancée Louise in tow, Brendan's still aware of the pressing reminder of his threats. It wouldn't take long for a man like Warren to ruin him and his reputation. More than ever he feels trapped. He could quit, wring Warren's neck as he'd like and turn his back on the city. But he can't face returning to Ireland and if word leaks about his violent impulses and sexual harassment then he'll never work again.

In the men's bathroom, he finds Steven washing his hands. He's in a shapeless nylon shirt, still creased from the way it was folded in its packaging and with that cheap sheen that Brendan can't bear. Still, he can't fail but notice how it makes the blue of his eyes look even more like an ocean. He's obviously bought the shirt with whatever leftover coins he had from the sign up charge Brendan convinced him into paying a fortnight ago. Brendan wonders to himself how long it will take for him to grow used to the lifestyle he'll soon inherit.

Since that first meeting, they've spent an unbearable amount of time together. Unbearable because Brendan carries a tension wound up in his shoulders, a noose around him, dying to pull his usual techniques on Steven. If it hadn't be for Warren's heavy-handed presence he would have already bedded him by now. Broken him in. It's taken every strength not to touch him, desperate to treat him like the object of desire he'll become. He wants to warn Steven, with tongue and fingers and flesh, that soon he'll be just a canvas or a coat-hanger but Brendan already sees more in him than that.

He tries not to think about it too long, because the itch to be inside him, to pump him of all his worth is too strong, but there's something different about Steven that he doesn't normally feel. Ordinarily, with Warren's threats in mind he'd have taken himself off to a hotel or a bar and purged his urges on some other poor sap, knowing he could resist his own client list if he really had to. But Steven's pulling him into conflict already, taunting him over what he is prohibited from.

It only escalated from that first meeting, where he sat all limbs and youthful confidence in trainers and too much hair gel. Then once his professional headshots were taken, Brendan had to sit opposite him, opening up the images and stamping on the rush of blood to his cock.

He looked stunning; there was little else Brendan could think about looking at them. In monochrome he had sleek angles and flawless skin, the kind that didn't look real. It was as if someone had drawn him. A pained seriousness in his express left Brendan trembling with how vulnerable he looked, his frame like glass. In the ones shot in colour, he burst the photo into life with mischievous lip biting that had Brendan stuffing his fingers into his mouth to stop the sounds crawling to escape. His eyes were a bright, transfixing blue and his head look bed-ruffled. Brendan had felt a violent shiver across his neck, the idea of fucking him, persisting like a nag that just wouldn't stop.

"What do you think? You think they'll look alright in my portfolio?" Ste had sat, tipping forward on the edge of his seat. There was a giddiness overtaking his self-doubt; he knew he looked good in them.

"More than alright," Brendan had said, shifting. He had to concentrate to keep his leg still from jittering.

There had been times after where Brendan had allowed himself to loom into Steven's personal space and call him into progress meetings just to keep checks on him. He put more effort into finding Ste work than he did any of his other clients. He was good at selling him, his emails to companies and designers sounding like his mouth was watering.

But with Warren leaving the party, it almost feels like a sign he should just fuck the warnings. Just the sight of Steven at the event is enough to make him snap.

"Enjoying yourself are you?" Brendan says, washing his hands at the sink next to Ste. Being a model hasn't quite rubbed off on him yet; there's still too much gel in his hair.

"Yeah! This party is well good," he says, grinning. The tips of his ears are red and Brendan's secretly pleased he's clearly started drinking already. He should feel guilty about luring young and impressionable lads and loosening them with drink, but he's selfish and needy and he knows they'll both enjoy it. Ste's still a polite boy, despite how he sometimes comes across. "Are you having a nice time?"

"It's getting better," Brendan says, looking Ste up and down. Mentally he repeats the measurements he knows are attached to that boy of his.

Ste leans on the sink and turns to Brendan. "Have you heard back from anyone yet, about me?" His brow is furrowed in curiosity, but there's still a lightness in his tone like he's a giddy kid waiting for approval.

Brendan shakes his hands dry and places a finger to his lips, shushing. He presses the finger against Ste's confused pout, leaving a wet mark. "No business talk. Not right now. Go fill you boots; have a drink and relax."

Back in the conference room, Brendan slips two twenty notes under the bra-strap of one of the waitresses, pointing out his target of Steven and telling her to make sure his drink is topped up all night. He lets Steven mingle with the rest of the party, slinking to a corner just watching him. He's a natural; soaking up the attention and bubbling with energy. Brendan resents it slightly; he's the opposite: hostile and stand-offish. He has no friends to speak of and resents small talk.

In the shadows he can't wait any longer, particularly seeing Steven conversing with another male model – one who's a flirt and one who Brendan had one disappointing night with a few years back. Brendan swoops in, taking the glass from Ste's hand and beckoning him out of the conversation. He steers him out of the direction of his company, who rolls his eyes at Brendan's intervention, and Ste is lead away and out of the party, smuggled into Brendan's office with a kidnapped bottle of champagne.

Ste's giggly and full of dramatic whispers in the dark of the office. He stumbles while Brendan flicks on the light and falls into his desk chair, already hard, anticipating what he's going to do to Steven across the desk.

"We shouldn't be here, should we?" Ste says in exaggerated whispers, taking his newly topped up glass and coughing at its fizz. On their way downstairs out of the party, Ste grinned at the illicit adventure of it all and now Brendan can hardly breathe with his plan coming together. Ste sits on top of the desk his legs swinging.

"No we shouldn't. But I won't tell if you don't." He clicks their glasses together.

Ste takes a large gulp and Brendan is transfixed watching the pump of his throat until the champagne spikes Ste's nose and his whole body scrunches.

"Easy," Brendan says, giving himself the excuse to touch Ste's knee. He lets it sit there longer than he should. "You're supposed to take it slow. Enjoy it."

"I've not really had it before," Ste says, wiping his wet lips on the back of his hand.

"Virgin." Brendan teases with a twisted smile. He pretends to be drunker than he is. He'd need an engine full of this cheap stuff Warren's bought in to get even close to the hot sway Ste has. What it has done is made his arousal sharper, the leaps he's taking riskier.

Ste's head falls down and he wriggles on the desk. He's misunderstood the remark and pulls at his shirt sleeves. "I'm just waiting for the right person, me." He looks up at Brendan, who hides a persistent smirk. "I'm gay."

Brendan's eyes press close for a long second and then he opens them again, letting that warm liquid rush of pleasure seep through him. He allows the smile that wants to form, slip into kindness. "Good for you, mate," he says encouragingly. It's not sarcastic like it is in his head. He rarely uses that word mate and it feels strange in his mouth, but Ste eases up with relief and it's satisfying. Usually it wouldn't take much more persuasion or talk and he'd make his moves on the fragile young thing, but there's something about Steven. He thinks about the word 'special' but ignores it because the idea is ridiculous.

After a little while of uncomfortable silence, the party upstairs a soundtrack to their still tension, Brendan slips off his suit jacket and perches up onto the desk besides Ste. He sees this as some sort of swap and hops into Brendan's chair, wheeling in it like a big kid. Brendan joins in with the laughter but hates the exchange of power, his control slipping with Steven lounged in the boss's chair.

"D'you think I'm gonna get a lot of offers then?" Ste says, looking around the office again which evidences Brendan's skill at securing all the big names.

Brendan pours him another drink, licking his fingers when the alcohol fizzes over. He catches Steven's eye. "If you don't then you're outta here," he teases. Ste pretends to be appalled and shoves his leg playfully. "Steven, stick with me and they're gonna be begging me for you."

Ste's eyes dazzle. He scoots forward in the chair, leaning forward. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." This close Brendan can almost taste him, feel his pulse. It's agony. "Look at you. Best looking fucking thing in the building."

Ste hinges on every word. His pupils have sunk his eyes and he's staring straight at Brendan's mouth. "Really?"

"I ain't lying." He doesn't usually drop in compliments about their looks – usually they know how good they are – but with Steven it happens before he acknowledges it. "You know…" he swallows, throbbing under his clothes. Warren's not here, it can happen and he can make sure it stays secret. He can't stand being near him if he can't have him. "We make a good team." He reaches out, fingers parting Steven's fringe and thumb caressing his cheek, gracing his lips lightly. "We make a _really_ good team…I could give you anything you want…" His touch disappears slowly and he rests his hand on his own thigh. Ste's gaze follows and – bingo – he might just get the hint.

Brendan feels hot air spurting from his nose. He hears it as if it's louder than the music upstairs. Brendan runs his thumb down the seam of his trousers and it's like he's starting a game for Ste to finish. He watches Ste wet his lips and move closer, colouring with the awareness of what Brendan's doing.

Brendan reaches out again as encouragement, hand on Steven's neck, touching his lips open. They exchange a look, it's shaky, like Ste's crossing a border with a weapon. His palms ease onto Brendan's thighs, the fabric sticking to his hands and the sound Brendan makes is caught somewhere between a sigh and the words: _Come on. _He smiles, dark lips of persuasion and sees Ste look up and out of the office windows as if they'll be caught.

"Nobody's around," Brendan says, looking down at Steven's hands, "It's just you and me." He rolls his hips, hoping to get the lad moving his palms. He's so nervous that Brendan even hears him swallow; the tremble of his hands vibrates through to his groin - it's bliss.

He could use more confidence in his curiosity, so Brendan repositions his hand so it cups him through the material and gets the motion going, palms flat and circling, friction building as he presses up and drags down. Ste's ripe with concentration – eagerness – as Brendan reclines back on his palms letting Ste taken control. He murmurs and sighs just enough to let Ste know to carry on. Ste uses both hands, inching forward on the seat.

"That's good," Brendan says, letting his head roll back when he hears Ste's anxious laugh escape in their stolen moment. He feels a shift in pressure and one of Ste's hands disappears, to pick up his glass and drain it fully. He eases up from the office chair and unbuttons Brendan's trousers; the sound of the zip being dragged cuts through the room.

Brendan's surprised and impressed by his nerve and he tilts Ste's chin up to tell him so. He goes to speak, feeling Steven's hand seek out his solid cock underneath fabric. He's daring and hungry, straight from Brendan's fantasies. His hands are hot and quivering, their pulse seeps through into Brendan's cock and they're connected by the feral beat of their bodies. The colour has washed from Ste's fixed expression like his nerves have caught up with him; this is abnormal behaviour for a boy like him Brendan thinks.

The phone rings, penetrating the moment and Brendan's conscience.

"Fuck!" Brendan says, fishing for his phone.

Ste's mouth is open, wet, perfectly shaped. He holds back for a moment, imploring. "Who is it?" It's code for: Can you ignore it? Ste's hands withdraw to his side.

It's Brendan's lawyer but he's desperate to press red and get Steven's mouth on him before they both back out. The call dies away and they're both breathless with relief that they can continue. Ste touches him through his underwear, little butterfly touches that agonise Brendan.

The phone rings again.

"Fucking hell!" Brendan wants to throw it across the room. He knows it must be important for Jim to bother him at this time. He looks at Steven, cupping his face, his gaze avoidant. "It's my lawyer," he says. "Don't move, I'll be right back."

He zips and buttons up, cursing all the way out of the office and down the corridor.

"Fuck's sake Jim this better be important!"

Jim's weary sigh is on the other end. "You're being sued," he says without pause, "Sexual harassment."

"What the hell?!"

"Does the name Kevin Foster mean anything to you?" Jim says. Brendan can hear him rifling through papers on the other end of the phone. "Ex-model of yours?"

"Yeah, ex being the operative word. Arrogant piece of shit." Brendan remembers him clearly. He had the right look, but his arrogance grew to untameable levels and he just wasn't getting the work; he was let go two months previously and Brendan gave his ego a good kick on the way out telling him he had an attitude problem and wasn't good looking enough to suit their clients.

"Well he's saying you promised him work for sexual favours, bribed him into sleeping with you."

"That's a load of shit!" Brendan cries, "I never touched him. It's lies."

There's a pause on the line. "We're going to need some good defence," Jim says. "It's not looking good, Brendan. You've got a reputation."

"We both know I've fucked around. But I never went near that little shit," Brendan says, thumping a wall with his fist; Kevin's one of his models he never so much as flirted with.

"I'm still in the office, can you make it over now?"

Brendan grimaces, thinking back to Ste in the office – the eager novice that awaits him. "I'm busy, alright?"

He hears Jim scoff on the other end. "What, more important than your livelihood?! Call round tomorrow. We might be able to settle this outside of court."

"He wants money, Jim. The cunt's after my money!"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Brendan." Jim says, hanging up.

When Brendan re-enters the office, Ste is standing by the door. He touches his head, bashful and apologetic. "Probably the booze," he says, "Not really a good idea, is it?" He's retucked his shirt and his fringe is back in place, neat as a school kid. It occurs to Brendan he hasn't even had the chance to kiss him.

Brendan's head is fucked and he barely has the energy to excuse himself. He lifts his arm to touch Ste's face and then drops it down, defeated. "Get yourself home," he says, straightening up. "I'll call you as soon as I hear from any of the designers."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks as always for the lovely comments and reviews. They really make me smile. Viva the Kevin hate . Do we trust Brendan though? And what's Ste going to think? Hmm! Hope you enjoy Part Three, there should be an update every day until the end.

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Part Three

Warren is breathing down Brendan's neck as soon as he arrives at the agency the next day. He's been up all night drinking, drowning his sexual frustration and anger in whiskey. The smell of stale drink cloaks him and he's still in yesterday's suit. Jim's been as vague in his assistance as ever, irritated by Brendan's insistence to fight the charges against him.

"You're a fucking disgrace," Warren says, hanging over Brendan's desk. Brendan remembers what almost happened in the office last night and grimaces, praying that Warren is clueless. He didn't think about CCTV, but then he wonders why Warren would even check it. "Kevin shitting Foster. I warned you!"

"Kevin's a little prick, you know it and I know it," Brendan says, slurred with sleep and booze.

"Well, did you do it?!"

"You have to ask?! Did I do it? Let's just rewind here – you remember that prick, right? You remember him failing to turn up to shoots and badmouthing the company?"

"Did you fuck him?"

"No."

"Well he must be one of the only ones who didn't get the Brady treatment!" Warren shouts, slamming his hands on the table. "Everyone in the building is talking about this! My reputation's at stake here."

"Tell your little fiancée to keep her mouth shut then!" Louise is like a tabloid the way she plasters gossip around the building

Warren punches him, square in the jaw and he feels the knuckles sting for hours after. Too drowsy to fight back, Warren has him pushed against the wall. "You're on your last warning. Go home and sort out this mess. And when you get back tomorrow, Louise will be chaperoning all of your meetings. Got that?"

Overnight Brendan transforms into a very hands-off manager. Warren permits him as minimal face-to-face contact as necessary and he begins to conduct most of his meetings via phone or email. It suits his new list of models as they flutter about warily with the rumours swelling in the agency. Fortunately gossip hasn't spread to the clients and designers and he can come up for air and speak to them like nothing has changed. They still respect his work, unaware of his sordid private life.

The first time he sees Steven again is two months down the line from their encounter at the party. Steven's not been short of offers and all Brendan's had in the way of contact is phone calls in work hours with Louise in the room and no space to check where things stand. Ste's not said and word and is as short and business-like on the phone as Brendan is. He sounds older on the phone now, more assured. Brendan's filled with irrational hope that Ste's not heard the rumours. But when they next meet at a menswear launch, it's clear Brendan's prayers haven't worked.

He's had a haircut and looks blonder somehow. It's choppy and modern, shaved at the sides. He's even more striking than Brendan remembers. If he hadn't walked straight into him – the habit of a lifetime – he would have drunk himself stupid and avoided him all night.

He wears his first pay check in the perfect fit of a designer suit, but it's not just the look of him, his whole stance as changed. He's two months into being a model, back and forth to London for shoots and castings and already it's as if he's grown. "Oh," Ste says, when their eyes meet for the first time since Ste had his hands on him. "Hi." Haircut and suit aside, he's suddenly stripped of the confidence that being an in-demand model has been thrust upon him and he holds himself up with a guarded posture. "Didn't think you came to these sorts of things."

"I don't turn down a free invite," Brendan says with a tight smile looking around the room for an exit plan. His lips stick to his dry teeth.

"No, I heard," Ste says, a scowl forming although his perfect face hardly holds lines at all.

"Look..."

He shakes his head, elbowing Brendan away from the flow of the event. "You know what, you can save your little speech. I know you're my agent and all, but I'm not as stupid as I was before; I'm not another notch alright? I'm not interested – everyone's been your little toy. Not me."

"You got me all wrong, boy." Brendan's teeth grit, anger rising to his expression.

"You're being sued for sexual harassment! What am I meant to think?!" Ste's voice is hushed, his eyes bulging white as he speaks. Brendan doesn't want to imagine how Ste must have felt when he'd heard the gossip.

They're interrupted almost immediately by a sun-tanned man with deep brown curls and a relaxed outfit. "Sorry I took ages, queue was massive," the guy speaks in a soft Australian accent, directing it at Ste. As soon as Ste meets the guy's eyes, the set-up between the two of them is obvious and Brendan feels his insides glow red. The guy looks at Brendan expectantly, waiting for an introduction.

"Sorry mate-"

"Brendan Brady, Steven's agent," he says offering his hand to shake and punishing him with his grip.

It's obvious Ste hasn't told the guy the full story because the Aussie's manner doesn't change much, but he picks up on the frosty atmosphere. "Sorry Brendan, I should've known," he says, "I'm Matty Fitzgerald. I did a shoot with Ste a few months back." He mimes taking photographs and laughs alone. "You must've seen my names on some of the photos." Brendan wants to quip about Matty have his grubby prints all over Ste, as well as his photos.

"Yeah I must have," Brendan says, flippant. He stares Ste down for a moment, studying his defiant pout. "This happened fast then!" He adopts an ugly false cheeriness, one he knows Steven can see straight through, but Matty's oblivious.

Matty squeezes Ste shoulder. "You kidding, mate? I wasn't gonna turn him down, was I?"

"That's…sweet," Brendan says drowning his sarcasm in a mouthful of drink. He can hardly believe that Steven has been so quick to jump into bed with this sleaze; maybe he's just like the rest after all. But something tells him that's just the bitterness talking. He wants to know details, how far it's gone but Ste can barely meet his eye and the spite won't swallow down – he's spurned by this guy having stepped in to ease Steven into modelling. That's _his_ job.

Without any further conversation, Ste steers them away and Brendan burns up with hatred for this Matty guy. His usual tactic would be to pick up some other lad at the party and take him home, but with the weight of Kevin's accusations and his reputation pressing down on him, drink is his only comfort. He makes the most of the free bar, heading home alone and filled with the twisted images he's imagining of Ste with his photographer. It's as if the world is mocking him.

: : : : : : : : :

A month down the line, Brendan sits in the dark of his apartment, a gut of whiskey sloshing around inside him. He wipes a hand across his bleary eyes and scrolls through his unread emails. There's some from Jim, detailing the time of their next meeting and forwarded statements from Kevin's lawyer. As he expected it's all about money. If he had Warren onside then he'd feel bolstered under the strength of the company, but he knows Warren's almost counting the days he can get rid of him from the company.

He deletes the emails from Louise which tell him which appointments he needs to change so that she can be there. He couldn't give a fuck; there might as well be a mannequin sitting in on his meetings. He's supposed to be taking Steven to see a rep from Harper's Bazar in the morning and Louise will be there – hovering. It's not like Steven can stand the sight of him anyway; Brendan can't get near to him. His mind drifts back constantly to that fucking phone call ruining the night at the party. He was so painfully close.

In his frustration, he flips a folder across the room, loose photos scattering across the wood flooring. As luck would have it, to torture him more, it's photos of Steven that have landed upright. New photos sent for a casting at Louis Vuitton. Brendan can't believe they didn't bite when all the other casting agents seem to be desperate to use him.

Brendan's on his knees picking up the photos. It's a basic shoot set up, Steven in unfussy plain clothes. Head shots and full lengths. It strikes him as odd that he looks like he's grown up in these short few months; he's assured, confident in his body, a quick learner in front of a camera. Bitterly, and wishing he hadn't thought it, Brendan remembers that Steven's being fucked by a photographer – his own little muse – so it's no wonder he's a natural. Brendan's not been with him to a shoot yet, but he can tell just from the photos that he knows what to do and how to stand. Ste's skin glows off the page and his messy bed-hair sends shivers pulsing up Brendan's spine.

Without a moment of guilt or hesitation and still on his knees, Brendan pushes down his jeans and underwear. He surrounds himself in a circle of the photographs, eyeing each of them with his hand gripping his cock. He spits on his hand, wrist clicking as his jerking off becomes erratic and impatient. He imagines Ste open and on all fours; he imagines being on top of him leaving him screaming into the bed; he imagines the way his cries would sound as he came; he imagines him on his knees, bent over, riding until he's exhausted; he imagines sucking at his tight ring until he's red and desperate enough. Brendan imagines it all, each thrusting vision.

He spasms when his release comes, blood racing. He wipes off and touches the photos spread on the floor with his warm fingers. He feels like he had help – an audience. But when he's dressed again, it's even clearer how alone and pathetic he is. Ste's flourished without his guidance, moved onto that cunt of a photographer.

Back at his laptop he opens the emails which are headed with casting calls. He reads the description of what they want; they scream out for a model like Steven. But if he can't have him then neither can they. He presses delete and shuts down the lid of the laptop.

That night he fucks a lad in the toilets of a bar. He's the closest looking to Steven he can find. His hair's too short and his arse isn't as pert but in the dark he'll do.

: : : : : : : :

"As you can see," Brendan says pushing the hard copy of the portfolio under the woman's nose. They're sat in an airy office, glaringly white walls and windows that play out the streets below as if they're a painting. The woman's from Armani Exchange, looking for new blood. More specifically she's looking for poster boys for their shops; the giant billboards that line the walls of the stores. Steven's so right for the casting Brendan doesn't know why she's being difficult with him. "Steven's got the exact look you're after. Young, slim, clean cut." Sitting beside him he can think of a whole list of adjectives, ones that are unthinkable in the professional environment.

Brendan feels Ste flutter beside him. It's what these call backs are all about. Brendan has to sell him like a piece of meat and in doing so, he has to describe his assets in complimentary detail.

The woman peers down her nose, pushing her glasses back as her gaze transfers from the page to Ste. Brendan can see her scrutinise his body. He doesn't have Abercrombie muscles – he's toned up since signing up to Foxy's (it's in their contract: strict diet and exercise regime) – but he's not all bone anymore.

She sucks her lips to one side. "Can you take your shirt off?" she asks Ste. Under any normal circumstances this would be an unusual request but for a casting call it's a run of the mill moment.

Brendan clears his throat. He's thankful for being half-sober today, it means that whatever happens won't be as disastrous as the week before at the Harper's Bazar meeting. He was too drunk to hold a serious conversation and while he just about managed it, they didn't offer Steven the job. Luckily, having built a good relationship with the magazine over the years, he was able to apologise for his 'off day' with no consequences that would feed back to Warren. He was pretty sure the woman at the magazine fancied him so he sent her a bouquet with a flirty card and hoped she didn't find out he was gay.

Steven's stomach is tensed in a smooth golden pull of muscles when he slides off his t-shirt. There's the faintest downy hair on his belly and the hint of a tattoo blooming from his underwear. Brendan forces himself to tear his eyes aware, sensing Ste is already uncomfortable with this arrangement without Brendan leering. He can only imagine he tastes like sugar, browned in the sun. Even Louise twitches from her seat in the middle of them. She's there under the pretence of taking notes.

The rep hums and Brendan can feel her slipping away. "Why don't you see what he looks like in the clothes?" he says, laying on a charm offensive with his smile, "You'll know if he works with them - if he's the right match."

He nudges his head in the direction of the rail of clothes to Ste and sees his eyes roll a little, holding back a sigh. Brendan's left to grimace apologetically at the woman behind the desk who makes clicking notes on her iPad with a speed and irritation Brendan doesn't see often.

When they're out of the meeting, Brendan lays into him immediately as they walk the streets back to where Brendan has parked his car. His sharp footsteps mirror his anger and Louise trails behind, flipping her hair out of the wind. She tries to catch up, almost as if she's afraid Brendan's going to pounce on Ste the minute they're out of a meeting.

Brendan snaps at her. "Jesus, will you just get lost for a minute? Go and get us some coffees?!" He throws a tenner at her. Ste has his arms folded and gives Louise the 'okay' nod, like she needs to check he can handle himself first and she disappears back the street to the Starbucks next door to the Armani Exchange offices.

When Louise is out of sight, Brendan shoves Ste in the chest, sending him stumbling back a pace. "What was that about in there, huh? What's with the attitude?"

Ste's eyes roll again, reminding Brendan he's working with a guy barely out of his teens. His lips turn into a hard slither when he's defensive. "They weren't interested, it weren't worth the effort."

"I'm sorry, are you hearing yourself right now?!" Brendan says as they continue to storm down the street, Ste leading. Brendan can hear a squeak in his voice, his accent flaring like it does when he's livid. "You can afford to turn away big clients like that, can you?"

"There'll be others. Better ones."

He pulls on Ste's shoulder, stopping him. Brendan's mouth is open, brow crumpled in disbelief. "Where's all this coming from?" He pauses and sees Ste's expression change. "Oh let me guess, Mr Fucking Kangaroo Bollocks."

Ste's face is as tight as a fist, his eyes squinting. Brendan sees again the boy picked off the streets, the one with no money and feisty in the corridor where they first met. The preened photographer's boyfriend is a skin he sheds easily. "You've got no right to talk about Matty like that! He wants the best for me."

"I'm your boss and you fucked up in there!"

"I fucked up? You're walking around being sued by some bloke for sexual harassment and you're drunk half the time…"

Brendan gets up in his face, fingers twitching like they're on fire. They're like for like in their aggression. "So that job wasn't good enough for you, am I hearing that right?" Brendan feels the steam coming from their bodies.

Ste looks away, armed by a speech given to him by someone else. He has his chin tilted like some cocky little fuck. "I can do better. I deserve better jobs."

Brendan shakes his head. It's like Kevin all over again, only difference is Ste wasn't like this from the start, not like Kevin; Ste he was drawn to; Ste was appealing. He can hear the word special again, but his brain retracts it. "Unbelievable." He pushes Ste aside and heads down a different street. "Make your own way home," he calls out, "My car ain't big enough for you and your boyfriend's ego."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for all the comments and reviews. I really appreciate them!

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**Part Four**

Brendan pokes the corners of his eyes in an effort to stay awake. He's thankful that he's not the one judged on his looks with red veins cracking his eyeballs and two days' worth of stubble. It's gone five in the evening and he's normally swerving out of the office as quickly as possible but his screen pings with an email from Warren. His mouth murmurs over the words lazily until Steven's name draws him up in his seat and he's battling tiredness to give it attention.

Warren alerts him to a campaign that's circling Twitter – a small pack of bigoted males targeting Ste and trying to get him banned from a sportswear advert. Ste's open in his sexuality, particularly now he's hooked up with Matty (their Instagram photos make him heave), but when Brendan brings up Twitter on his browser, he's presented with a wall of persistent abuse aimed directly at Ste and the company. The bigots are planning a boycott.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Brendan asks on the phone once he's bypassed Louise on reception. She already had her handbag under her arm ready to leave. He feels for Steven having to see that, particularly the graphic way their words read, but he's hardly close to Ste, it's not like he can offer him advice or a shoulder to cry on; Ste's made his feelings perfectly clear.

"I don't know Brendan, how about doing your job? You should be on top of this – reassure him, get him to block those fuckers and if he needs to – go to the police." Warren is still barbed with him, despite the progress he's making with the newly recruited models and that he's on his best behaviour. He doesn't know about the near encounter with Ste but then he doesn't need to.

Brendan ends the call, feeling pulled apart by the directions Warren wants of him. He can't get close and form a relationship, even a professional one, with any of his models because of the paranoia that he's going to sleep with them – it's not just Warren who's suspicious, it's the models too. But he's in danger of seeming disinterested in their careers – cold.

Hesitantly he dials Ste's number, closing his eyes as he listens to the dialling tone. He hasn't had a face to face meeting which him since their trip to see the casting agent, since that blew up in his face. He'd hoped Ste would be placated by the Kingpin Sportswear deal, but he doesn't know for sure.

Matty answers Ste's mobile and Brendan hears a giggly playfight going on for the phone that makes his stomach lurch and his jealousy thrust itself deeper into his mind. He hears Matty complain and tell Ste to ignore the call, that Brendan shouldn't be calling after office hours. He despises Matty's attitude more than he can cope with and he's only had a snapshot into his life.

"You got time for a word?" Brendan askes when he finally gets put onto Ste.

He can hear Ste fighting Matty off and worming away, voice growing serious and defensive away from his boyfriend. Brendan's hates how aware he is of how different things could have been. He liked the way they had sparked together when they met. With Matty's voice in the background, Brendan wonders whether the reality is worse than the images he's picturing – of Matty all over Steven's newly taut body.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"Nice to hear from you Brendan, how's my career looking from down there?" Brendan says, mocking Ste's tone and newly built arrogance.

He hears him huff and sigh, presumably walking away from Matty as he becomes a distant sound in the background of the call. "Is it something important?" Ste asks.

"Why else would I call?" Brendan's voice drips with a flirtation that he just can't resist. If the situation had resolved differently, he could imagine himself pressed up against Steven in the office, his voice a similar murmur but against Ste's throat.

"And?"

"Having a romantic night in, are you?" He hears the tone he's adopted repeated back to him and immediately regrets it, paving over it before he can hear Steven's complaint. "Sorry, none of my business."

"No, it's nothing to do with you."

Brendan has almost forgotten why he called in the first place, preoccupied with the loathing he's built up for photographers over the years, Matty sliding comfortably into that list of reasons. They're even worse than the models he can't stand, with their high concepts and demands and attitude problem. With a camera in hand they think they're artistic gods. And since everyone with a phone these days thinks themselves a photographer, guys like Matty – and the one he decked a few years back – get precious over their work, demanding more money and stricter photo rights. He reasons with himself that he doesn't want Steven caught up in that and wonders if this desire to protect him has flourished out of a selfish need to keep him as his.

"Warren asked me to call you, so here I am - doing my job."

"About what?"

"Okay, no small talk. I can take a hint." Brendan scrolled through the list of tweets in front of him. "Have you been online today?"

"No. Why?"

"Then, just do me a favour and don't," Brendan says. The flood of abuse is starting to make his head spin. His fist clenches by his side. He'd never thought of online bullying any more threatening than names in the playground but there seems to be a collection of men with a real vendetta.

"Is someone saying stuff about me?" He sounds fragile then, like he's back in the office with the pen in hand ready to commit to a new life. The harsh snap to his voice is gone. Brendan pictures his fringe ruffling against a creased forehead, but the fringe is long gone and he doesn't get to look at him like that.

"There's this group of bastards saying stuff and look, it ain't worth your time reading but they're trying to get a boycott of the brand going – you know, Kingpin Sports and that big poster advertisement you did? – it's just bigots' stuff, you know the sort." Brendan's voice is different when he explains and he knows even Ste can pick up on it.

He hears him inhale a short and confused breath. "What sort of stuff? About me being gay?"

Ste's making a name for himself in the modelling world and his own personal life wouldn't normally be in issue in their world of glamour and shoots – and it definitely won't be as soon as Brendan can get him with the big names and on the catwalk – but cavemen and their sports brands feel differently.

"Yeah," Brendan says, breathing softly all that earlier bravado bullshit pushed aside, "Look Steven, we didn't get off to the best start but I'm your agent, it's my job to sort this out and shut it down."

"Oh god," he says, interrupting.

"What?"

"They've hacked into my emails an'all."

"Fuck. Okay, don't do anything. Can you meet me at the police station – I'm gonna sort this right now."

"I can't drive and Matty's been drinking."

Brendan's already grabbing his keys. "I'll come by and pick you up, gimme five minutes."

Matty's unimpressed when Brendan shows up at the door, moving aside as Ste rushes past. Brendan's unflinchingly smug when he reveals his car's a two-seater and Matty retreats inside defeated. Brendan guesses he hasn't a clue what occurred between them, but he's marking his territory nonetheless; Brendan is forced to watch as they share a tender kiss and he almost feels it on his own lips.

At the police station, Ste's face is drawn and pale as he sits slumped on the tatty seats in reception waiting to hear what the course of action is going to be. Brendan hands him a plastic cup of coffee; watching him blow into it is somehow a simple comfort.

It was still a frosty journey in the car with Ste silent and staring straight out the window, but in the station, apprehensive, he touches Brendan on the arm lightly. It's breaking all rules that they're alone at night together.

"Look," Ste says, looking at his feet, "Let's just forget whatever did or didn't happen before and move on. We've both got our own stuff to deal with and I don't want it to turn out badly for either of us."

Brendan bites back on his sarcasm and agrees, just as a police officer approaches to say they're going to transfer the case to the specialist team that deals with online harassment and that they'll be in touch. Brendan almost feels like the parent as he takes down all the contact details and rests his hand on Ste's back. It's just for a moment, just long enough that his palm spreads warmth, long enough to realise he shouldn't and withdraws it. Ste doesn't seem to notice and they head back to the car, subdued, Ste biting his fingernails.

: : : : : : : : : :

Warren and Louise are pre-occupied arranging their wedding, out visiting venues, and when a courier delivers a stack of glossy magazines fresh from print, enthusiasm gets the better of him and he phones Ste. Of course, they've both seen and approved the new Hugo Boss print ads but there's something special about holding the magazine in the palm of their hands. Brendan still finds it a rush, even after ten years in the business. It's a mark of success and Steven's the first of his new recruits to pick up a print commercial deal with one of the big brands.

His hands shake as he peels through the pages trying to find the advert. It's a big deal. It's the usual sort of advert for Boss; dark colours, moody lighting. Steven thrown into it looks sharp and masculine. It makes Brendan's breath falter when he finds the page at last. He attaches a post-it to the page and waits for Ste's arrival.

When he gets to the office, he's fresh from the gym, damp with a little sweat and in grey joggers. It makes Brendan smile how comfortable and laid back he looks. It's not a million miles away from the boy who turned up for an interview, it's just the tacky jewellery that is missing. Ste's face beams when he sees the stack of magazines on the desk and he throws his bag down. He's struck with a sudden trepidation, like it's finally dawned on him what it's like to be a real model, and he looks to Brendan for reassurance.

"Knock yourself out," Brendan says, standing on with his arms folded. He's protecting them both from the adrenaline rush he's experiencing. He watches on as Ste whips through the pages, so caught up in his own excitement that the magazines thud to the ground. Brendan crouches next to him to aid the pick up, just as the magazine Ste is holding falls open to reveal the very advert he was looking for. Together, crouched on the floor, there's silence as Ste takes in the sight of seeing himself as part of a huge advertising campaign. Brendan shares the shiver.

Brendan is electric and he's close enough to Ste to feel the buzz coming from him. He looks up and they both exchange wild, unfiltered grins. The room feels suddenly smaller.

"What do you reckon?" Brendan says, looking between the man in print and the boy next to him. The contrast makes his skin prickle with excitement.

"It's mental!" Ste snorts an ungainly bout of laughter and then to prove how crazy it is, pouts to match the photoshoot on the pages, holding the magazine up next to him. "Don't even look like me."

"They look great," Brendan says, still on his knees, He selects another magazine to find another copy of the advert. Readers will be flicking past these adverts to get to their articles on fashion buys or sex tips, but Brendan doubt he'll ever be able to tear his eyes away.

"I look dead manly, don't I?"

Brendan ripples with gentle laughter and then nods in agreement. The lad sitting beside him looks exactly his age – young and soft around the edges. "Yeah I guess you do." He thinks of the word smoulder and ignores it, pushes it out of reach. _Sexy_ springs into his consciousness and he says it without thinking.

Ste looks up and scrunches his nose. He thinks it's funny. "Sexy…? I 'spose that's what they were going for." He's in his own little world, hardly noticing how much Brendan is drinking him in.

Brendan feels his blood getting hotter at Ste's innocence and modesty when it comes to the photos and stands, leaning against the desk. Steven's like a kid at Christmas surrounded by all his toys. Looking at him Brendan almost forgets the lawyers' letters piling up at home from Jim and Kevin's people. He's going to pay up out of court, having no evidence to prove his innocence and no one to support him, he's decided that this might be the only way to settle it, if he can find the funds.

Ste looks up from the floor, his eyes look glassy. "I just wanna say thank you," he says, "For helping me get this. I never thought…"

"That's my job," Brendan says with a shrug, despite the compliment having warmed him.

"But still," Ste says, getting up onto his feet. He feels Ste go to move closer but think better of it. "Thanks."

They're both thinking about the next steps, where Ste's career is about to go next. Brendan's already read the email from Boss, inviting Ste to a casting session for another campaign; it could be on TV and it could be a huge fee if he can pull it off. Ste's staring at him, a little awed with a smile that makes his eyes smaller and shinier. There's a smile there, just at the corners – light and encouraging. It brings Brendan out of his thoughts. Behind the hostility and anger, Ste still looks at him like he's attracted – even if he know he shouldn't be. If he could cut through that resentment, he might just have another chance with him. He's not Ste in the adverts, dim lights chiselling his frame and surrounding him in elusive mystery. He's not the man commanding the page, captured in a moody stare. He's the boy in a tracksuit who grew up nicking from corner shops and not knowing he could trap a man like Brendan into total captivation.

"I better ring Matty!" Ste says, as if the thought has just struck him, "Get him to buy as many copies as he can find!"

Ste dashes out of the office to call his boyfriend. After an icy moment of frozen stillness, Brendan's foot spasms out, kicking one of the magazines out of his sight. His jaw clenches, his walls of previous success stories – the models who've made front covers and those who he's fucked – glare down at him, mocking from their height. He sees Ste out in the corridor, sheepish laughter on the phone and Brendan tears one of the adverts from the magazine and balls it in his fist. Still fuelled by the hot fury Ste's triggered, he deletes the email from Boss, shutting down the computer and leaves the office, walking straight past Ste and out into the air.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely feedback! I know I'm making you read a lot of angst but it'll be worth it. Promise. Love hearing your thoughts so I hope you enjoy this part!

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**Part Five**

He doesn't see Ste arrive, storm into his office and push past Louise, until he's standing right in front of him, shoving and pulling at his shirt. Brendan's in the middle of a meeting with a cute, if not overly muscled, dark haired lad who he might have made the effort to seduce if he wasn't so fixated on Ste. He's only interested in finding doppelgangers to screw. Even then it's heartless, soulless – worse than the hook ups with models he couldn't care less about.

He's never seen Steven the way he looks in that moment. His face is tight, throwing the little weight he has forward. Brendan can picture him now, growing up in an aggressive family, fighting to be heard.

"You fucking cancelled my meeting!" Ste shouts, pushing Brendan backwards until he jolts the desk.

Brendan clicks his fingers at the other model to get rid of him and he sheepishly trundles out of the office. Brendan sees the alarm on Louise's face, trying to persuade her to leave and aware that Ste is still huffed with rage beside him. "I'll handle it, okay? Just get out. Five minutes." Louise picks up her things and backs out of the room. He dreads what she'll report back to Warren.

Ste has a whole storm raging in his face, his features jerking into angular shards.

"Meeting? What are you on about?" Brendan straightens up his suit, blowing cool air out of his lungs. He's eerily cold, shuffling papers on his desk as he stands.

"Hugo Boss!" Ste cries, thumping on Brendan's chest. He's still got a bit of the fierce street rat in him. But Brendan acknowledges it's not the time for to appreciate that and he grips Ste's arms and pushes him away. The charge in their eyes flames between them. Ste's cheeks have spotted with red patches, his chest heaving with breath, stumbling back after Brendan's little push. The mood shifts now that Brendan has the upper hand.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Brendan's voice raises as he retaliates. He backs Steven away, body curving to edge him into the corner and against the wall, rising up onto his feet. He knows exactly what Ste's referring too, but he has his teeth bared and a warning scorched into his eyes. The volume in their altercation leaves the small office ringing with the silence in their pauses like the aftershock of a collision.

"Matty heard it from one of the reps. They wanted me for another shoot and you ignored them. You didn't reply to them or return their calls. You've messed this up for me!" Ste's still riled, but his temper has cooled a little under Brendan's stare. It's an inevitable; somewhere under that new layer of model confidence is the same lad who was awed and pulled in under Brendan's control.

"Oh Matty told you. I forgot, Matty knows everything. He knows what jobs you should get, what designers you should work with and he knows about offers that don't even exist now. Well, good old Matthew!" Brendan claps, slow and laboured, voice dripping with hatred. He pins Ste against the wall with two fingers against his shoulder. His moustache casts a shadow across Ste's face when he speaks.

"It's true," Ste says, battling to stay defiant. "I trust him. He hasn't lied to me like you have."

"I ain't lied." Brendan prods his fingers into Ste's shoulder after each word. He lies constantly, he's just not willing to own up to it yet. Or ever.

"Yeah you have! Matty told me! He cares about me," Ste says, boring his eyes into Brendan like he's deliberately trying to get a reaction out of him. He's got guts by the bucket load and Brendan knows that's what will keep him surviving in the world he's landed himself in.

"So what, it's _love_ now, is it? He tells you the camera adores you and you're falling at his feet?!" He _sounds_ jealous, he can feel it writhing green on his tongue – toxic and controlling.

"So what if I am?!" Ste's eyes soften and the worst pang of all smacks Brendan's chest.

He laughs, booming it across Ste's face and the humour not touching any other part of his face. He flicks Ste's chest with his hand and backs away. He doesn't look at him – can't. He's lied and he's manipulated him and he's torn between kicking him out and thrusting him up against the wall, kissing him with all the burning intensity that's plaguing his bones. It's more than just claiming and owning, but he won't allow that to slip into consciousness.

"Yeah, fine. I cancelled the meeting," Brendan says, guiltless and in one breath. "I'm yer boss and you ain't ready for it and you weren't right for it neither. I've got better things planned. See, unlike your little boyfriend, I'm thinking of the long term – of the future." Brendan prowls up close to him again, he's sure his breath is raising the hairs on Ste's neck. He watches him swallow, his Adam's Apple dipping, his eyes greying in their squeezed sockets. Brendan presses his arm against the wall by Ste's head, boxing him into proximity. "Your man, he's all about the quick fix, jumping from opportunity to opportunity, just looking to see what fucker's coming next. I'm surprised he's lasted this long."

"You -" Ste's voice quivers, shaking his head and the claws of his fingers dig into Brendan's collar. His teeth grit, his eyes filling with water. Brendan knows he wants to call him the worst names possible and walk out on him for good, but he won't.

"Go," Brendan says, stepping out of their space and shivering at the loss of contact. He sits back at his desk, unlocking the safe and unscrewing the bottle of whiskey that will numb the poison he feels.

: : : : : :

Nursing whiskey after whiskey, Brendan wondered what he had become. Was he really as low and as desperate to be toying with both their careers out of jealousy? When did he become such a pathetic excuse for a man, losing his temper because he couldn't obtain Ste for himself? He'd never let any man bother him and get into his mind like Ste had. It was as if he'd got in there somehow and started changing things, making Brendan think differently, feel differently and act even more impulsively than he was used to. Ste had flicked a switch and it wasn't one that made Brendan comfortable or happy.

Their connection shrinks back to ice cold, strictly business. Brendan keeps to his promises, forwarding Ste all the emails he receives. When things had been better between them, Brendan had flirted with the idea of framing the Hugo Boss advert and adding it to the collection on the wall, but the last thing he needed was Ste staring down at him now. Brendan finds it hard enough to resist checking Matty's flickr account and see the streams of beautifully lit photographs of Ste covering his page. It tortures him, but he keeps going back for more when he can't sleep. He lies awake for hours, his mind like a flipbook, darting between how he can get the money sorted to pay off Kevin and how he's going to push Steven out of his head. He has money saved, money he can access, which he was saving for travelling places when he'd pissed off enough of England to warrant splurging his money on an escape. That's how he avoided life's problems: running away. If the law wasn't involved that's how he'd seek to leave the troubles of Kevin and the weight of Steven's presence behind. Life wasn't that kind to him.

He's lost the joy over the smallest things, like the blessing of not being invited to Warren and Louise's wedding. Most would take it as a slight whereas for Brendan it's a relief. There's nothing more depressing than a wedding, he thinks, particularly when you've been along longer than you can remember. Meaningful and long lasting aren't words he's used to. Usually hearing he wasn't required to attend a soul destroying social event would have him breaking out into celebration – treating himself to a greasy meal and the pleasure of a warm body. But when he doesn't receive an invite it barely registers.

He's had his head in work and although he hasn't shared it with Steven yet, seeing it as some sort of penance, he's worked his arse off to secure him a great job. Steven's growing more comfortable in commercial shoots and fashion spreads but they hadn't touched anything bigger that he might be capable of, until Brendan hounded and hounded as many up and coming designers he could think of. He bribed, schmoozed, flirted and even took one of the (female) designers out for dinner trying to persuade them that Steven would be a perfect match to show off their collection on the catwalk. Eventually Romana – one of the young designers heralded already by magazines across the globe – had agreed to trial Ste and use him in her main show at London Fashion Week, as long as he could prove himself and work a catwalk. Brendan had sworn blind to her that Ste would be better than the other models she was using. Truth is, he hasn't even seen Steven walk a stage himself. He'll need training so Brendan spends days staring at the phone, knowing he needs to bite the bullet and call.

One evening, taking him completely by surprise, the phone rings. "Steven," he says, trying to tame the shock in his voice and stay professional. "What can I do for you?"

There's the muffled sound of a gulp on the other end, a laboured and trembling inhalation of breath and then he sniffs. "Well you were right weren't you?" He gulps again, as if he's swallowing a mouth of seawater.

Brendan grows cold and then feels heat rush to his ears, heart racing. "What is it? What's wrong?" He can't quite believe Ste's calling him, let alone in this state of upset. Brendan slumps to a chair, holding the phone with both hands.

"It's Matty innit, he's –" Ste moves away from the phone and sobs, before speaking again, "I'm not ringing to talk to you about _this_, right?" His upset is injected with residual anger – something Brendan can't blame him for. "But something's happened and I need you to come and help me."

Brendan's cold again as he rushes over every possibility. His body tremors, protective instincts kicking in. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he says, loud sniffs as he tries to clear his voice. "Please – right - just come over. It's important. It's about me job and everything."

Brendan can't get there quick enough, confused as well as alarmed. He's pretty sure he set off a speed camera on the journey but it's an agonising wait to hear what's happened. Each scenario he comes up with feels worse than the last and by the time he's standing outside Ste's flats, just seeing him in one piece – even in the distressed state he's in – is a relief. His skin is a weak, tired mauve, eyes pink and gory with tears. He looks nothing like the image Brendan conjures when thinking of him.

Brendan's stiff with awkwardness at first as he follows him upstairs, unused to dealing with such raw emotion – particularly coming from Steven - until he reaches Ste's apartment and sees the full mess he's in, the way he's carrying himself and he can't stop himself from reaching out. He places one hand on his shoulder and then another on his cheek, knowing Ste must be wrecked and desperate even to even let Brendan hold him in this way. The whole of him aches to see him like this.

"Tell me," he says softly, lifting Ste's head up so that they're meeting each other's gaze. Brendan's got a knot of rigidness across his shoulders, placing the blame on Ste's state onto Matty. "What's happened, what's he done?" Steven's bed-warm like he's been cocooning himself away.

Ste grimaces, reliving it all and moving out of Brendan's hold. Even this upset, he can't just forget what's occurred before, fighting for independence. Brendan gives him space, not wanting to feel like he's taking advantage. He sees Ste spark with anger now and again and hopes it isn't his doing. "Matty's been havin' these sex parties…him and all these guys…behind my back. So I told him I were leaving him." Ste's face doesn't just speak of betrayal and pain, but disgust.

Brendan's hands resemble boulders by his side, tight and unforgiving. There's not a bone of smugness in him towards Matty now, not seeing how he's hurt Steven.

"And when I told him he threatened me, said he was gonna post all these photos of me online." Ste rubs his palms across his eyes.

Brendan froze. "What kind of photos?"

"What do you think?!" Ste snaps, avoiding Brendan's eyes. He turns away. "I didn't want him to take photos of me, not like that. But he did and now –"

Brendan swallows, looking across Ste's apartment which seems as if he's been living in the pit like this for days. He tries not to think about how it makes him feel, that Ste's been used and hurt, and he ignores the way the relationship destroys a part of him. All he can think of now is how much he wants watch Matty's struggle for breath, face purpling from his chokehold.

"What do I do?" Ste says, overcome with sobs. He's never looked more fragile, like he needs protecting and he stands helplessly tugging at his frayed sleeves until Brendan puts his arm around him. He pulls him close to his chest to let him cry it out. There's a reluctance, a push and pull from Ste, his arms and back rigid. But Brendan soothes him into relenting and his fingers trickle like tears against the nape of Steven's neck. He then straightens them both up, taking Ste's head in his hands.

"You don't have to worry about anything, okay? I got this. This is my job. This is what I do, okay?" He tries to offer Ste a smile but it feels misshapen in his mouth. All he can think about is tearing Matty limb from limb. "You need to tell me where I can find him and I'll sort it." He finds himself brushing Ste's wet cheek with his finger and Ste doesn't flinch.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Overwhelmed by the lovely comments. You make my day! Enjoy this next instalment and let me know what you think. Is this going to be the end of the troubles…?

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**Part Six**

The lights are on in Matty's photography studio when Brendan arrives and he takes that as a good sign. He leaves Ste in the car outside. He didn't want him here, didn't want him to be a part of what he was about to do, but Ste said he couldn't just sit at home waiting. The door's unlocked, like Brendan had hoped, and the building hums with warm electricity from the lighting that's rigged up from an earlier shoot. Brendan can see Matty's back is turned, focused on the screen in front of him, touching up images and airbrushing out imperfections. He's wearing headphones, expensive ones that block out external noise, so Brendan's able to creep up right behind him without him noticing until Brendan's image reflects on his monitor.

Before Matty has a chance to react, Brendan spins the chair around, ripping the headphones from him and his mp3 player shatters to the floor, obliterated by Brendan's heel. He grabs him by the shirt, feeling Matty's strong hands tighten around his wrists.

The flooring squeaks as Brendan drags Matty up from his seat, fingernails digging into his chest. Brendan pushes him to the ground, winding him with a punch to the gut leaving him clutching his body and spluttering.

"Dude! Lay off me man!"

Brendan's even more riled by his carefree response. He pushes up his sleeves and lands a blow to the side of his face too. The crack he hear satisfies him and he straightens up.

"Get up!" Brendan shouts, poised to fight again if he needs to. He's not new to have to fight his corner and scumbags have been lucky to walk away from him in the past. When Matty staggers up, Brendan takes the opportunity to step in, knowing he's probably fitter and younger, able to hold his own and twists his arm behind his back.

"Now tell me, what made you think you could get away with blackmailing my client like that?" Brendan doesn't use Steven's name but they both know who he's talking about and the pain Brendan's inflicting gives away that this is more than just a business dispute. Brendan's stomach is churned when he sees a selection of images on Matty's desk, all naked guys coerced into his free and easy persuasion.

Matty cries in sharp pain and Brendan imagines his blood dripping across his fingers. But they're dry and brittle against Matty's bones.

"He agreed to have the photos done. What, are you jealous cos I fucked him first?" Suddenly there's spite in Matty's words and it's clear he's not been as oblivious as Brendan first thought. He wonders how far his reputation has spread or if it's obvious just by the way he has come rushing to Steven's aid. It must have seeped through onto the outside, extra lines for his pre-occupation, a different pallor from the mess of emotions burning away inside.

Brendan jerks his arm into an angle where he can almost feel it giving way to a fracture and snarls up into Matty's face. He won't rise to the accusations. "Where are the photos?"

"We had a real heart to heart, me and Ste. Said he almost gave you his virginity because you'd made him feel _special_. I set him straight on that one – pardon the pun there – that you're just some old sleaze using him for sex. Turns out I've got the same tricks as you, mate, only mine paid off."

Brendan shoves him to the ground, leaping forward to trash his desk, pushing the monitor off the desk and watching the image splinter.

"Where the fuck are they?!" he screams, hurtling over back to Matty again.

"You better be offering me some decent money for them."

Brendan has his wallet out, rifling through the twenties and fifties in there. "How much?"

"How much is he worth to you?" Matty grins, hobbling up to his feet. The floor is now littered with photographic evidence of his conquests.

Brendan can't afford anything knowing he's going to have to pay off Kevin, going through the courts or otherwise. But he knows sleazes like Matty don't kid around – it would be nothing to him to hit upload and watch Ste's reputation fall into ruin. It wouldn't damage his career at all, but Steven's confidence would be wrecked permanently. Brendan's got no choice but to dig into the fund he was going to use to pay off Kevin.

"I'll give you two grand."

Matty scoffs but his arrogance is stunted as soon as Brendan stamps on his foot and he's sucking in air through his teeth. "Ten."

"Five," Brendan says, gripping onto his shoulders and directing it into his ear, knowing he'll be left with peanuts to pay off Kevin, meaning he'll end up in court and he can kiss goodbye to his career. "Otherwise there won't be a bone in your body that I ain't broken." To reiterate his point, that he means it, Brendan bends Matty's finger until there's a distinct crack. He feels Matty slump in pain and stumble away when Brendan lets him free, clutching his broken finger and cursing. He retrieves a memory card from his desk. It's got Ste's name written on and Brendan wonders just how many labelled cards he owns.

"You'll take a cheque," Brendan says before writing one and dropping it at his feet.

Brendan takes the card off him with a chilling smile. "And hey, if I find out you've made copies then I'll be back to finish what I started, okay?" There's a wounded pride in Matty's eyes, not the fear Brendan would like so after a final manic grin, Brendan tightens his fist and punches him in the face, until the blood from his nose makes Brendan's knuckles red. "So long Matthew," Brendan says as he leaves, turning out the light on the chaos he's left behind.

Brendan makes sure to wipe his hand on a tissue from his pocket before he climbs back into the car. Ste looks up from his position, head in hands, when Brendan sits beside him. Brendan's palm opens revealing the card. "He won't bother you again," Brendan says. His words sound so final.

"What did you do?" Ste asks, seeing his scuffed knuckles printed with blood. Brendan closes his fist, inspecting the marks. He's not ashamed of his use of violence tonight.

"Gave him some money, roughed him up. Nothing that won't heal. I didn't hurt him more than he hurt you." He swallows, looking away at the last comment, softer than he expected it to sound. Matty's comparison of their behaviour had thrown him and the last thing he wanted to seem was another user.

Ste's weakened by a new rush of tears and he wipes them away before Brendan can watch them fall. "Thank you," he says and briefly, almost too fast for Brendan to feel it, Ste rests his hand on his arm.

A quiet lulls between them in the car and Brendan feels tiredness consume him. He's reminded of the photos sitting on the memory card. "What do you want me to do with the photos?" Brendan says, flipping the card in his fingers.

"I don't want them, I don't even want to think about them," Ste says, "Makes me feel sick. Put 'em in the safe with my contract." Ste shakes his head, trying to free himself, plagued with the thoughts of the images and the damage they could have done. "I'll get rid of them another day," Ste presses his lips together, "After everything that's happened…I just wanna go home." Brendan's thrown by the trust in his request, particularly following on from the way their relationship began, but he nods, taking him straight home.

When they're at the door of his apartment, exchanging weary goodbyes, Ste is cold and worn, hugging himself for comfort, Brendan touches him on the shoulder, fingers uneasy. "It's not how I wanted to tell you, but I've got good news. There's this new designer, Romana LaVon, she's huge. Or she will be after London Fashion Week. I've persuaded, worn her down," Brendan smiles to show he's joking, to show they can move on from tonight, "She wants you for the big show to model her menswear. You're gonna be the star." He knows it's an overload of information but being thrown into work is exactly what Ste needs to keep his mind off Matty.

"That's…that's great," Ste says, a smile coming naturally through his grief pulled face.

"When you're up to it, you're going to need some training, but this is it Steven." Brendan shakes him a little, clapping him fondly on the cheek. "You've earned it."

Ste's smile is weak, but Brendan knows he means it. He makes sure he's indoors safe, lingering longer than he should and accepting more of Ste's thanks.

When he gets back to the car it's like a weight's been lifted.

: : : : : : :

The next day, sat in the office with the memory card of photos locked away with Steven's contract and the rest of his file, Brendan deliberates over calling him. He already sent him an email through his work account offering him three days off and managing to postpone one of the contact meetings he'd set up with another commercial client. Once he's broken into fashion modelling that'll be it; he'll be able to be selective when it comes to offers.

His fingers waver over the phone keys until finally he makes the call. It rings for a long while and Brendan's rushed with a shower of relief when the voicemail kicks in. He braces himself to leave a message until Ste picks up, answering the call like he's just detangled himself from bed.

"Hi, Steven?" Brendan says, thrown off guard. He clears his throat. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"I was just watching Jeremy Kyle in bed," he says and Brendan can't help the warm spikes of amusement that fill him. "They've got more fucked up lives than me," he says as way of an explanation.

"How are ya?" Brendan asks.

"You don't want me to come in for a meeting, do you?" There's a little panic in his voice like he's overslept or he's crushed by the energy involved in picking himself up and being ready to put on his model face.

Brendan laughs. His eyes catch on the light that falls on the newly framed photo shoot on his wall. It's Steven's Hugo Boss advert in its rightful place. "No, no, no," Brendan said. He pauses, leaning forward on his chair, speaking conspiratorially almost as if Louise can hear through walls. "I was ringing to see if you're okay after last night." It's not business, he's not checking up on Ste – he's making sure he's not suffering from the way Matty shattered his confidence.

Ste sighs like he's had no sleep at all. "I'm okay," he says, "Just glad it's over. And thanks again for everything yesterday. I know what kind of trouble you could get into it." Brendan thinks about the broken finger and the bloody mess Matty's face was in.

"Well I wasn't going to sit back and watch you lose everything to an idiot like that, was I?"

Brendan hears a wobble in Ste's voice like he's clamping down on his emotions. He groans. "How could I be so stupid?"

"You weren't to know. He took advantage." The irony of Brendan's words aren't lost on him as he thinks back to how much of a turn-on Ste's vulnerability was – and still is. How easy it would have been for him to be in Matty's place – using and manipulating for his own gains. Matty's words have echoed in his head since Brendan heard them.

"Maybe I'm better off just getting a normal job, forgetting the modelling," Ste says, resigned.

"No. You're too good to let scumbags like us stand in the way of your future, of something you're good at." Brendan refuses to let it happen. Steven's made of better stuff than to be someone's shop boy or skivvy.

There's a pause on the other end, just circles of Ste's breath meeting the receiver. "You're not a scumbag," Ste says. His voice inflects like he never compared the two men at all, like it's a surprise Brendan would liken himself to someone like Matty.

Brendan won't let himself dwell in any sort of naive compliment from Ste. He looks again at the frame on the wall. "Don't quit, Steven. Please."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Can't thank you all enough for the lovely words of encouragement. Hope you continue to enjoy. Things are going to get very interesting…

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**Part Seven**

Louise is on a long and boozy hen week and Brendan is grateful doesn't have her trailing around his meetings like a noose around his neck. Ste's had a week off and the first time Brendan's seen him face to face since that awful night is when they're sat side by side during Ste's break from rehearsing the fashion show. He's brought Ste a latte - loaded with sugar - even though he is supposed to be on a strict health plan and they're sat on the wall outside the studios. The sun's out, casting a pleasing glow and Brendan imagines it's a welcome break for Steven who has spent the whole day walking up and down the same stretch of stage. Despite her age, Romana isn't easy going and relaxed about how her clothes look on models, she has her livelihood at stake and like Ste – this show could mean big things for her.

"You shouldn't have bought me this, you know," Ste says, taking a long gulp of the drink. His eyes have blossomed back into the blue Brendan remembers from their first meeting. "Romana gets in a right huff if you don't follow her rules right to the letter." He pats his stomach like the coffee will mean he can't squeeze himself into one of her creations.

Brendan pulls a face, shrugging. "Don't you worry about her – got her wrapped around my little finger." He gives his finger a small wiggle to prove his point. Truth of the matter is, because she's told him herself, Romana's hugely impressed with Ste. He's picked up the catwalk skills quickly she'd said, told Brendan she was thrilled. He had tried not to beam with pride, stuffing his hands into his pockets, studying Ste's practice from afar. He suited her clothes and it gave Brendan a brief thrill to think Steven might be at the centre of great things for male fashion.

Ste laughs. His legs swing on the wall. He's not thinking about the grand plans Matty tried persuading him into or getting worked about where he could be in five years. He's living in the moment, enjoying the new experience. "Oh yeah, you sleep with her an' all did ya?"

Brendan's head droops. He's never far from thinking about the Kevin situation. There's a court date looming now and Jim's told him that Kevin's not willing to accept Brendan's offer; it's not high enough, like he guessed. Once his name is dragged through court, it'll feel more official and he's unlikely to work again. Right now he's clawing onto every day at the agency. He sighs and it's not until he does that Ste realises just how much Brendan's exhausted by the whole thing. "I know when we first met I was…well, I came on too strong and that's the way I've always been. I've shagged my way through model after model-"

Ste laughs a little awkwardly, bristling. "Alright, don't need the gory details. I'm sorry for bringing it up I-"

"Nah, nah." Brendan has to finish, his explanation has been a long time coming, "You've heard the stories. Most of 'em true. But Kevin was an arsehole, any fucker'll tell you that. This is about money, pure and simple. I didn't even sleep with him, not once, not even close. He knows that. But he's not stupid; he knows my reputation. I ain't got one person who can say for certain I'm innocent. Not one person believes me." Brendan looks ahead, the world passing by – moving, escaping. "I don't even think my lawyer trusts me."

"Well I do," Ste says. It's soft the way he says it, like an innocent young thing speaking up in class. He clutches his coffee cup, almost as if he has to, to stop himself fidgeting. "I believe ya. I trust you."

Brendan's caught off guard and he looks at Ste. His profile is haloed by the bright sunlight. He wants to ask Steven why, why of all people _he_ believes him but Ste answers for him, a tender smile on his face.

"If you was like what Kevin said you was then you wouldn't 've got so down about it, would you? You would have shagged me and all the others for starters. But you didn't." Ste's face changes, like his pores have been gritted with pain from the past. "And I've got no reason not to trust you, after everything you did for me with Matty…"

Brendan shakes his head. Of course Matty deserved the battering, but if anything it just adds to the list of reasons why he looks like the guilty one. He has no desire to turn himself into a martyr, so he takes Ste's drink off him. In the last of what's left of his career, he's going to make sure Ste is the success story he deserves to be.

"Oi, I ain't finished that yet!"

"Yeah and Romana will have my bollocks for next season's earrings if you don't get back inside." Brendan hops off the wall and it's almost like a reflex – he offers Steven his hand to steady his climb down.

"She'll definitely have them if she finds out you've been buying me caffeine and sugar. They're practically illegal." Ste grins at Brendan's eye rolling, brushing himself of the grit from the wall and heads back inside.

Back in the studio, Steven's quickly ushered backstage for more fittings and Romana corners Brendan. "You better not have taken him to the pub!" she says, sweeping her black hair up into a bun. Her arms flap around like a rainbow, adorned with bizarre pieces of jewellery. Her clothing is equally as extravagant and he's eager to see what else she's got Ste trussed up in for the big show. The hair and make up for her models is kept very classic and Brendan's glad about that; he doesn't want Ste covered up in gimmicks like one of the shows he had a model in last year, where their faces were obscured by red visors like a Kylie Minogue video.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart," he says, pecking her on the cheek, a low laugh in her ear. He knows Romana would be all over him if he was the type of man to be interested. With that on his mind, it's almost on cue that Steven trails out of the changing rooms in little more than his underwear and a crisp dyed shirt. Normally there's a runner to help out at these sorts of trial runs but Steven's the type of guy to try and sort things the way that comes naturally to him, even if that means abandoning modesty and emerging in his underwear.

"Missing something?" Brendan says, scratching the side of his face. The shirt has translucent panels, revealing the shadow of his neat little chest. Brendan finds it unbearable not to look.

Ste puts his hands on his hips. "Someone's taken my trousers. I've asked around and everyone's denying it."

It sounds like a playground dispute or a practical joke and Brendan can't help but smirk. He sees Romana raise an eyebrow and her heels clatter towards the changing room where one model is about to get screamed at. For a young designer, she's got a real fire in her. It's probably why she's so fond of Steven.

Ste waits, arms folded. He looks at Brendan and then away again, smiling to himself. "You better be looking at my face," he says, bouncing on his heels.

"I wouldn't dream of looking anywhere else," he says, the pair of them diverting their gaze around the room and masking the tendrils of a smile.

: : : : : :

Brendan meets Ste at the train station with a packet of Neurofen and a jumbo bag of Starburst as requested (he's hoping Ste will offer him the lime ones) and spends most of the time waiting for him checking his watch, paranoid that they're going to be late travelling. Models for Romana's show are spread out country wide and it's up to them to make their own journeys to London for the show – under penalty of death and a squandered career if they fail to get there on time. Romana's fortunate enough to have a coveted early evening slot so Ste and Brendan are due to catch an early morning train to make it there in good time. Ste's running late, sprinting to meet Brendan with a large sports bag slung over his shoulder.

"What time do you call this and what the hell have you got in there?" Brendan says, a frown taking up most of his face.

"Oh, you got my text," Ste says, grinning when he sees the headache pills and sweets.

"We're gonna miss the train at this rate," Brendan says, leading the way and keeping hold of the sweets like he's having to cajole Ste onto the train.

On the train they find their reserved seats and Ste bends up on tip toes to try and stuff his bag above, his t-shirt creeping up as he stretches. Brendan sneaks a brief glance, looking away when Ste notices. Ste claims the bag is full of 'bits and pieces' – things to keep him occupied on the train and some casual clothes to change into after the show before they make the return journey. Brendan berates him for lugging half his apartment with them and watches with intrigue at Ste's unusual tablet taking method.

"I can't swallow pills, can I?" he says, wedging a tablet into the middle of a strawberry Starburst and wincing as he chews.

Brendan laughs, muttering that it's fucking ridiculous and stealing a sweet from the packet. Ste tries to snatch it away only for Brendan to remind him: "Who bought them?" and later on it seems only natural that they share the packet between them, watching the north disappear in a countryside blur as they leave it behind.

Brendan wakes, on the train, to find his head on the table. He could have sworn he felt something tickle across his hairline, which stirred him, but when he rises up - neck cracking - the only person capable of having touched him in that way while he was sleeping is opposite him, looking pointedly out the window.

"You've been asleep ages," he says. It almost sounds like he missed the company.

: : : : : : :

He takes the opportunity to watch a show when Steven is thrust into rehearsal on arrival and he sits at the back, away from the celebrities who are likely to be papped. He knows about fashion – more than he cares to admit, not wanting to seem like the embodiment of a cliché – and he enjoys it, but he's restless watching the parade of models, and the buzz of designers and fashionista hipsters make him restless. He takes a wander through the bowels of the building (after many security checks) where there's a quiet of panic and nerves. There are girls running past him clutching their outfits together, someone crouched with stage fright taking gulps of air, make-up artists doing last touch ups.

Romana's area is underground, in the basement. It feels like a relegation but they all know she's lucky to be anywhere near this event. Overhead lights flicker and Brendan imagines that all the power is being harvested to the halls above where public, big names in the world and press gather to discover how they can possibly be 'on trend' next season. Vogue and its ilk have pages to fill; blogs have analysis to tweet; celebrities have minions to 'inspire'. Brendan can't be too judgemental about the business seeing as he spends most of his days sucking up to their every whim.

He feels like a teenager with a crush but it's two hours before show time and he feels the need to wish Steven luck. There's a large open room at the far of the corridor that vibrates with the sound of many voices, so he heads there imagining that's where he'll find Steven. Instead he finds Romana overseeing a trio of male models, a frown crevice marking her brow.

"Hi," he says, kissing her cheek and trying not to worsen the stress she is experiencing.

The trio of guys before them are going to start the show, he learns, with some sort of professional gymnastic routine. Their perfectly sculpted chests are too gym-bunny for his tastes, but the open invitation is there to look - so he does. One of them has an eighty-watt smile which is almost definitely aimed at Brendan.

Romana's still fretting over something but her mood is briefly lifted by Brendan's arrival. "Brendan – life saver!" she says, "I need an overruling decision."

"She needs to know what looks better," Mr eighty-watt smile says, stepping up closer to Brendan. He's shirtless unlike the other two who have exposed chests but some strange sleeve outfit that Brendan is unsure about. "This," he says, drawing Brendan's gaze down the length of his body, "Or those two?"

He's cocksure of himself, this one, creeping ever closer. Brendan won't deny he's good looking but it's almost as if they're off radar. They're always all talk and no bite, guys like this. And he clearly thinks flirting with an agent is going to get him places.

"I'm looking for someone," Brendan says, taking a glance around the room. There's bodies and clothes everywhere.

The model rests his hand on Brendan's arm. "I know you're going to pick me," he says, winking.

He blocks the guy out, turning to Romana. "Go with the sleeves," he says abruptly, "You seen Steven anywhere?"

Another model, changing, overhears and calls over. "He's just this second left."

Brendan heads in the direction the guy pointed to, leaving Romana flapping. Steven's not in the corridor and he passes room after unlocked room where models are getting ready, their hair and make-up perfected. There's a dark knot festering inside him as he wonders if Ste oversaw the attention he received from the other models, whether he would start seeing Brendan as just another worthless whore like Matty. The adrenaline of everyone around him creates a consuming fog of bodies and excitement, intense nerves and dread. Clothes and shoes and fixing spray are thrown around and there's exposed flesh and hurried unchanging, no regard for each other's nudity. It's almost as if camera flashes are being set off in his face every few moments and he's bewildered by it all. Then just as he stands in a doorway, hand resting on the wood and a rush of people pushing past him, a rail of clothing dragged out into the corridor, his eyes meet for a long slow blink with Steven. He's stood in the centre of this chaotic room, caught in the middle of undressing, in the motion of pushing his underwear past his hip bones. By the time Steven realises who's watching, he's bare from head to toe, armed with his new outfit change and underwear, ready to redress.

The curve of his spine, from nape to the dimples of his backside is blessed with a coating of the blondest hairs, rippling like gold dust. His cock hangs soft between his legs and with the round of his behind; it's like he walked straight from a painting. He's not a muscled god or a hairless doll stripped of masculinity; he's got beige-golden skin and downy hairs and moles and scars and toned strength in his nimble slight limbs.

Brendan sees all this and he pushes it way back into the dark forbidden corners of his mind. Every opportunity to fuck him, like the Brendan of old, the Brendan with no conscience or feeling, slips away from him. Taking advantage just doesn't seem like an advantage any more. He wants more than that.

There's a first time for everything.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks so much again for all the comments – they keep me going! And I've enjoyed reading the speculation too over what might happen. This may or may not be the part you've been waiting for. I guess you'll be the judge of that. I hope you enjoy…

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**Part Eight**

He clears his throat, turning away and half pulls the door closed until there's another wave of models escaping into the corridor. He doesn't know if he should apologise or act blasé about the whole thing when he sees Steven later – he wasn't the only one changing after all – but it seems personal and intimate, and he's sure Steven felt something when they locked eyes, him undressed in that state. But he's due on stage in a few hours and Brendan isn't going to disturb the connection between them when he's so close to making it big. He can't risk ruining this for him when he has messed him up so much in the past.

He walks the corridor a little further, until hidden under the stairwell he finds an abandoned make-up studio room. It's filled with boxes, discarded make-up, luggage, bottles of water and rails and rails of unused clothing. But it's quiet, private, and Brendan finds a large sofa that he can escape to. He sits down; it's as if months of weariness and stress have chased him here and he finds himself drifting off into sleep.

When he wakes, it's because the door has been opened and then closed – locked from the inside. He grumbles as sleep escapes him, confusion making him clear his fogged throat. It's bound to be some guard trying to kick him out. He prods his eyes open, dragging his hand down his face and his head drops forward to the direction of the door. A figure stood at the door comes into focus.

"Hi."

Steven walks towards him faster than Brendan pieces together the reality of him being in the room. He's obviously ready for the show: hair styled, metallic-tinged knitwear and tight jeans from Romana's collection. His face looks different and Brendan puts it down to nerves.

"What are you-" Brendan's ready to ask him if he needs anything, why he isn't in the waiting area with the rest. Romana will kill them both if he's late.

But Steven stops him, standing in front of him. "Don't say anything just, don't – alright?" Ste takes the hem of the jumper, made and altered exactly to his measurements. and pulls it up slowly over his head. He's left pink in the cheeks and hair ruffled from it. Brendan's arms stay limp at the sides and his breaths come shallowly in and out. Ste's knees touch the sofa and his thighs part, straddling Brendan's lap.

Their lips touch if only for a second and Brendan needs that – to prove he's physically there. Ste's lip sits plump between his, a soft tug of flesh and the sound shatters their silence. Steven's thighs are hot and pulsing – like they have their own heartbeat – as they arch over his legs, pressed firm. Steven lowers his mouth again, wetting the edges of their meeting lips with the tip of his tongue. A moan rushes out of Brendan's nose and his hands sculpt over Steven's hips and around his waist, steady and heavy, as if he's waited a lifetime for it. Steven's assured in the way he kisses, their lips slicking together with slow sounds of suction. He didn't imagine it this way, he didn't guess he'd be the one passive to Steven's desires but he's there, smitten to Ste's every movement.

Ste draw back just for a second and waits for Brendan's eyes to open. When he does he sees a soft glowing smile on Steven's face. His teeth scrap across his bottom lip and he pushes forward for another kiss, the vibration of a moan slipping through just as Brendan's hands cup and squeeze his arse. He kisses harder to that rhythm. Brendan's tongue curls up against Steven's and he doesn't care that his desperation surfaces in the way he pulls Steven further onto his lap. He can't tell if Steven knows if he's hard as hell, but he can feel the weight of Steven's crotch rubbing against his, making the grind more unbearable.

Ste manages to balance himself to unbutton the jeans and tease them down. He's breathless, mouth open, and nuzzling Brendan's jaw with his eyes half-lidded. Brendan groans in half amusement to see Ste's erection strained through his underwear. He cradles Ste's face in the palm of his hand and his thumb glides in between his lips. Ste sucks at him, eyes dark with wanting.

Brendan ushers Ste up and eases him out of his jeans. He finds himself knelt on the floor, eye level with Ste's navel. And he kisses his thigh, letting the hairs bristles amongst his moustache. "Ain't you supposed to be somewhere?"

Brendan leaves the question hanging, licking across Ste's hip bone. His jaw's slack, lips wet when he nudges them across the tip of Ste's cock.

"In an hour," Ste says, barely able to reply. He threads his fingers through the back of Brendan's hair, rupturing with cries when Brendan's tongue teases the underside of his cock. Brendan grows weak hearing Steven's pleas, it's not even about gaining anything from him – it's the heat of his flesh, that warm taste of his pleasure.

Before they've barely got started, Brendan stands, pressing his clothed body against Ste's flushed, slim frame. Between kissing him, Ste's hands smooth across his chest and he begins unbuttoning Brendan's shirt.

"I couldn't bear it; the other guys all over you," Ste says, his words all blurred with messy kissing sounds. "And _I_ want you." He draws his hands across Brendan's haired chest, nose flaring as he pants with arousal. Brendan's mouth opens against his, and charges him with a solid kiss, hands cupping his face – it's the only response he has.

Ste strips Brendan out of his last clothes. It's the last feral act of confidence he's allowed – undressing him. Brendan collects a condom from his wallet, tossing the leather pouch to one side. He's possessed by the sudden urge for control and with a hand behind Ste's head and the other across his arse cheek, he rams them up against a mirrored wall. Ste's head rolls with the jolt until the kissing continues and he's loose and incomprehensible at the sight of Brendan's dick thick against him.

It's an old make-up studio, mirrors everywhere repeating the image of their naked bodies thrusting and grinding against each other. Brendan, lips sucking at Steven's neck, hears his half-cries – his head swimming with images of their act. His fingers pinch at Steven's nipples until they're stiff and red, removing his mouth from Ste's neck, wetting his fingers to push them between Ste's legs.

"You're tight," he says, almost grunted – part frustration, part unquenchable desire – fingering the rim of his entrance. Ste winces and urges Brendan to keep his hand there, letting Brendan explore him.

His head throws back, turns to the side into the room. When his eyes open, Brendan's finger deep inside him, Ste laughs triumphantly, gusting a little over Brendan's face.

Brendan's mouth is open, teeth gnawing at Ste's jaw and he pulls away. "What?"

Ste nudges his gaze until Brendan sees what he does – a left behind tub of Vaseline amongst all the other crap abandoned here. Brendan's laugh is greedy and he positions Ste's leg around his waist, scratching nails down the tender flesh of Ste's inner thigh, grinding their dicks together. "You're a lucky boy, then," he says, biting down into the fleshy warmth of Ste's bottom lip and pulling it into his mouth.

They end up with Ste on his back, folded up and achingly flexible, on top of an old make up table, Brendan standing. Ste can see his obscene position in the mirror's reflection and Brendan knows he's getting off on watching Brendan spread him open with Vaseline. Brendan coats his hands and plays with Ste's cock roughly, enjoying the wordless sounds he musters – they come bubbling up from his chest and reach out right through his toes. Once again Brendan finds his vulnerability beautiful, more than anyone will ever praise or pay him for.

When he finally enters Ste, the grip of his muscle wall making Brendan lose all sense of reality, Brendan feels an infinite grunt lick every nerve of Ste's body. Brendan grapples with Steven's position, trying to get the best angle for both of them. Steven's hips are at his mercy and he knows it's oh-so-right when Ste's twisting and rippling like a current of electricity is fucking his system. Ste's hands are white, gripping onto the table, his hair splayed against the mirror behind. Brendan can't help but study him, the way his face tells Brendan exactly what he needs to know: just how much he is loving it.

He pounds inside him, each jolt shoving Ste up against the mirrored wall. He knows it's uncomfortable but each punctured cry is echoed by a guttural gasp of pleasure. Brendan's head is bowed, staggering as he copes with the first wave of his orgasm. It's like a fight taking place inside him and he's thrashed with a need to make Ste come just as hard as he is.

"Fuck fuck," Brendan says, pumping into him. His skin's dewy from the intensity of coming, the way Steven's pulled it out of him and he withdraws gently, turning his attention to Ste's needs.

He's still glossy and tacky with lubricant when Brendan tongues the cleft of him, opening him up and rooting his tongue inside. With a free hand he jerks off Ste's cock – hearing those warning mews before he's lacquered with the evidence of Ste's pleasure.

He revels in the taste of him, sucking his fingers clean in Ste's full witness. He returns to lap the dark heat of his hole a moment long before drifting up to his mouth and smiling through the rasp of breath, pinching Ste's lips between his. Brendan holds his hand against Ste's face and Ste fixes it there. They can both see the inexcusable state of him but for that moment nothing else matters more than what they'd just shared.

Ste loops his arms and legs around Brendan as he sits himself on the edge of the table.

"You wanna get down?" Brendan says, ready to carry him away.

Ste shakes his head, pressing his damp forehead to Brendan's. "I want you to kiss me," he says sweetly, as if it's the first time.

"Okay," Brendan says, smiling, the tips of their noses touching. Ste's lips are blood-full as they slide against his, tongues grazing as they take this one with a delicate purpose. The route of Brendan's hands caress the length of Ste's arched spine, committing every sensation of the kiss to memory. It's perfect; they just fit. The intimacy awakes something inside Brendan which he can't just run from.

Their moment is broken by the rattling of the door. Ste's locked it but there's a definite jangle of keys heard. Their lips unstick and Brendan leaps away.

"Shit. Shit!"

"Get behind there!" Ste says, jumping off the counter and pushing Brendan behind a loaded rail of clothes.

The key goes into the lock and Brendan scrambles, naked, for cover. Ste kicks Brendan's clothes out of sight and begins redressing, knowing his nudity will be excusable somehow.

"I'm getting dressed!" he calls out, "Give us a sec!"

Brendan sweats on all fours behind the rail feeling completely mortified. He sees Ste pull on underwear and his jeans and then stick his head around the door.

"Oh, you're there!" says one of the runners. "Romana's going spare." She gives him a strange look. "Haven't you already been to hair and make-up? You're gonna need a touch up."

"Yeah yeah, okay. I'll be ten minutes."

"You'll be five, otherwise Romana will give your position to someone else. You're already in her bad books for disappearing like that and…getting dressed in a junk room…" The girl peers into the room, screwing up her face.

"I needed some peace, alright?"

The runner seems unconvinced but leaves him to it. Steven appears at Brendan's feet, wearing the world's smuggest grin.

"The look on your face!" he says, helping Brendan up and handing him his clothes.

It's a close call he didn't need. "If we'd have got caught…"

Ste rushes a kiss against his mouth. "We didn't…." He smoothes down his hair and watches on while Brendan dresses. "That were amazing, weren't it?"

Brendan's laugh comes out in a sigh. "Yeah it was." There's a moment where they're just there, standing and staring at each other, as if nothing can permeate their world until Brendan shakes his head. "You better go. This is your big moment."

"You better be out there, clapping." Ste points, throwing on his jumper.

"I'll be there."

Ste checks briefly in the mirror, grimacing at how obviously shagged he looks but shrugging as he leaves Brendan behind ready to face the start of his future.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Glad you enjoyed the last part so much! I'm not going to break the habit of a lifetime – this is full of drama drama drama! Still, I hope you like (and if you don't, you can throw pillows at me). After this part, there is one part left (sorry) and just to tease you more, that won't be posted until Sunday night. Can't wait to hear your thoughts, especially on that last line…what's going to happen?!

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**Part Nine**

The next day, back from the buzz of London, Brendan sits in his office surrounded by magazines, newspapers and blog posts analysing and reviewing the various shows at London Fashion Week. He's filled with acute pangs every time he thinks back on the whole day, going over and over his moment with Steven in the old studio. It was like being made new again.

After their encounter, Brendan had taken his time to redress, unfolding his collar in the mirror and smiling to himself. He felt lighter – happy even. As he walked back through the corridor he caught a glimpse of Ste being ferried from one room to another and just couldn't stop the glow of brightness that spread through him like a palm of heat across his chest. He couldn't catch his eye but he watched him walk away, following his every move. When the time came to head upstairs, he took his place in the arena, making sure he wasn't too near the stage - not wanting to put Steven off during his big moment. He saw the crowds quickly fill up the seats and his chest heaved with a suffocating sense of pride at the whispers travelling the air, the anticipation of the hotly awaited show from Romana.

When the lights lowered, his heart hammered and his nerves had peaked so deeply that he felt like leaving his seat and hiding. Programmes were rustled beside him, Steven's headshot taunting him from the page. The music started and the sleeve wearing gymnasts began their routine to applause. Romana's theme appeared to be clean metallic colours, complementing other shows during the week and ensuring there would be plenty of coverage in the media. The lights dimmed and then blinded in their intensity. Steven walked out to a consuming baseline, swathed in strobe lighting and Brendan couldn't tear his eyes away. He wore the outfit he'd stripped of in their private room, shimmering in its white gold threads. He walked the stage just like he had sex: he was confident, beautiful, assured. He commanded that stage and if Brendan had looked around him, he'd had seen that all eyes were fixed on Steven and no one else. He was going to be the name everyone remembered when they came away from the show.

After three outfit changes for him and the parade of men had been exchanged for a line up of women, Romana's show was over and the arena was filled with a din of enthusiasm and an eagerness of phones being switched on, Twitter being open and editors being called. Brendan felt sick all of a sudden, like his privacy and intimacy with Ste was going to be ripped from him now that everyone else wanted a piece of him too. There was a dimness to the sudden flood of thought that perhaps Steven's part in this was offering his body as a goodbye, an end to their working and professional relationship.

He made himself anonymous in the arena, although for both their sakes he should have been networking – should have been introducing himself as Steven's agent to try and get him more work. But he was struck with a selfish possessiveness, meaning that when he was recognised, he fled the arena with an excuse and forced his way backstage to make his claim known.

Romana caught him first, gleeful in her immediate celebrations, although still a little rattled with nerves! She grabbed him. "Brendan!" she cried, pulling on his arm. "What was it like out there, did we pull it off?!"

His eyes continued to search around the room for Steven, but he smiled at Romana. "Everyone's talking about you," he said, "They love you."

She squeezed him, offering him a glass of champagne but he declined it.

"I guess you're after the star of the show, are you?" she said that under her breath so as not to hurt the feelings of any of the other models lurking. It was unusual for a newcomer to make such an impression and lead a show with little experience in catwalk modelling.

Brendan nodded and pointed him in the direction of where Ste was stood, by a group of the other guys he had shared the stage with. There was raucous laughter when he was a few feet away, tears springing from their eyes. He approached with a strained smile, feeling like a parent interrupting a party. Ste's laughter stopped when Brendan stepped in and his stomach clenched as he saw Steven blush a little and then submit to the secret smile.

"Alright?" Ste said, ears pink. Brendan hated the new doubts that possessed him wondering if Ste was embarrassed, if he was now old news. "Everyone this is my agent, Brendan. Brendan this is everyone."

Feeling ever the outsider, he gave them a courteous nod and nudged his head at Ste. "Can I have a word?"

Ste downed the last of his champagne and handed his glass to one of the guys, following Brendan out of the backstage area. When alone, Ste caught up to his pace and hooked around his arm, swerved immediately into a hidden fire escape by Brendan. Ste was all giggles as his back hit the wall and his arms welcomed the way Brendan swept him up into a kiss. Ste's hums morphed into hungry groans as Brendan pushed their bodies up close, hips and groins meeting in heat. Ste's hands tackled Brendan's hair as his tongue ignited even more lust into their kiss. There was a low grunt creaking up from Brendan's chest as he took the sweetness of Steven's top lip into his mouth, sucking and pulling at it. He dragged his hands over Ste's backside like he owned it, like he was marking his territory until finally they gave into breathlessness and slipped apart, mouths freshly wet.

"What was that for?" Steven asked, oblivious to Brendan's torment over losing him.

"I needed you," he said, his breath ruffling Ste's hair as he exhaled deeply.

"How was I out there?" Ste asked.

Brendan tried not to look crushed as his immediate response was about his career. He straightened up Ste's clothes, resoftening his hair. "Perfect. They loved you, like I knew they would."

"And what did you think?" Ste said, daring to run his finger over Brendan's moustache.

"Doesn't matter what I think."

Ste slipped his arms around Brendan's neck. "Course it does! You're my agent!" He was grinning, wild and beaming, not noticing the way Brendan had changed from their earlier moment, stiff and colder – not knowing Brendan was reading into his every word.

"I thought you looked amazing out there. You're going to be fighting them off."

"Really?!"

Ste pressed his lips against Brendan's and hugged him tightly. "Thank you," he said.

There was still a part of Brendan that felt soft and malleable to Ste's influence with his gratitude and body held close, Brendan was able to block out the darker slant on his words.

"D'you mind if I hang out in London tonight with the rest of the group? Romana's going to put on this amazing party. I know we were supposed to be headed back on the train together…" Ste was still looped around him when he said this but the permission seeking, the fact he wanted the new world of showbiz parties where there'd likely be others (agents and lustful men) wanting to snap him up just left Brendan rigid and bitter.

"No," he said in a tone lost on Ste, letting him loose away from his grip, "You go have fun with your new pals."

Ste was already on his way out the door when he turned, not seeing the fidgeting rage Brendan wore. Ste's lip was bitten as he turned his head, hips angled to the side. "I'll pop into the office tomorrow, see if I can't sneak past Louise."

On the lonely night time train journey the resentment grew and grew. He had imagined them falling onto the train, tipsy and light-headed with excitement, cosying up and kissing, heavy petting up the table – stopping only when someone walked past. Instead he analysed every detail wondering if Ste's performance had been just that – an act, an ego boost – or a warm up before he was really expected to impress. Sure they'd grown close but it wasn't many months ago that Steven was ready to suck him off to further his career. Now Brendan felt dumped for the next new thing in his life.

Back in the office Brendan's eye is tracked on every mention of Ste's name. He's everywhere: blogs, tweets, editorials, features. There are even Facebook groups and tumblr photosets floating around. Brendan scrolls through them all with that strange mix of feelings again: attraction, pride, elation, misery, bitterness, possession, jealous. More and more it's like he's losing his grip on Steven and now that they've slept together, now he knows how much he craves to be with him, the anguish of losing him is agony. He doesn't know if he was a one night stand or a stepping stone for Steven because Brendan's turned his phone off and is filled with the worst possible dread that he got lured in by another man or tempted into a new contract with a different agent. Somehow this feels like karma, if he believed in it, with everything he had done in the past with other models and their careers and despite having never touched him, Kevin's inevitable victory will be the final nail in the coffin.

There's a knock at the door at the same time an email pops up on his screen. He minimises the email as soon as he sees Warren's letting himself in. He sits in the client chair without a word and leans forward, taking up all of Brendan's eyeline in a threatening menace.

"What can I do for you?" Brendan asks, swivelling his chair in Warren's direction.

Warren's eyes circle the office walls, remaining for too long on the framed images of Ste. Brendan shifts in his chair like Warren knows his secrets.

"How did your boy's show go yesterday? He's everywhere by the looks of it," Warren says, leafing through some of the print outs on the desk.

"Good," Brendan says, clasping his hands together. "Reaction in the crowd seemed good and Romana's impressing everyone."

Warren nods and then reclines a little in the chair. He has a strange look on his face like his seams are splitting, holding back a grin. "That's not the reason I came to chat to you," Warren says.

"Oh?"

"Kevin Foster. How's that going? You haven't been keeping me updated." There's a nasty, accusatory tone to his voice, lines of smugness crinkle at his eyes.

Brendan's head bows. "It's er…my lawyers handling it."

"See I heard you were up shit creek," Warren says, leaning his fists on the desk.

"Ha, well…"

"He refused to take your out of court settlement offers…?"

Brendan nods slowly, once.

Warren sits back in the chair, nodding to himself, puffing himself full with breath like a fish. "I paid him off myself. Sent a cheque round there last night." Warren stands, walking the spare floor space. "I mean, I know you didn't do it. I know he's a little cunt. But I'm not going to stand up in court for you." Of course Warren wouldn't want it ending up in court; it'd be bad for business. Warren looks down on him, scoffing in disgust. "Think of me paying him off as a loan…actually no, a redundancy packet."

"Redundancy?!" Brendan says, standing to meet Warren's height.

Warren's suddenly pre-occupied, rooting around in his pocket until he places what he was hunting for, onto the desk in front of Brendan. Brendan runs cold, a fist of dryness caught in his throat as the memory card of Ste's explicit images sits on the desk. "This was in the filing cabinet, with Ste's contract. And don't try and lie to me, I know exactly the sort of sordid images that are on here!"

Brendan's fury erupts in his face. "They're not mine! I didn't take them! They're Ma-"

"Matty Fitzgerald's. Yeah I know," Warren says, chest expanding as he corners Brendan. "Ex-boyfriend of your precious Steven, am I right? You see, he's told me that you beat him to within an inch of his life, threatened to kill him if he didn't hand over those explicit photos."

Brendan's posture hardened, his face stony.

"He showed me photos of the injuries you inflicted. Nasty stuff," Warren says. He's not a man opposed to violence – he's got a shady past himself – but if he can take the moral high ground to accuse another, he will. That's what Warren Fox does. "So are you going to waste my time and lie to my face and say you didn't beat up him for the photos?"

Brendan grits his teeth, snarling. Hot breath scolds his nose. "I beat him up _because_ he took the photos. I was trying to protect Steven."

"So that's why I found them in your little wank bank over there, is it? It's not the only thing that Aussie loser told me. He said you'd already tried it on with Ste when he first started here and then suddenly, it all falls into place." Warren pushes his way right up into Brendan's face. "Pack up your stuff. I want you out of here within the hour. And if you take any contacts with you – models, clients, whatever then you can count on me finishing what Kevin started, only this time there won't be anyone to dig you out." He laughs, looking at Brendan's walls of success stories. "You really are pathetic."

Warren leaves, putting Louise "on guard" at the door so he doesn't take anything of worth. He turns routinely to his computer, sinking down at his desk. He opens the email he had received before Warren's brutal arrival and reads.

_:_

_To M. Brendan Brady,_

_I'm writing to you on behalf of Jean Pierre Martin, casting director for Lacoste in Paris. We are looking to offer your client Steven Hay a two year contract for a new campaign to start next spring-summer season. We were very impressed by his work with Romana LaVon and Hugo Boss and we would like to negociate contracts as soon as possible, considering demand and time scales. We understand this is an unprecedented and daring move, so we will be happy to answer any queries you may have. Please see attached examples of our brand mission statement, guidelines and the new range. _

_We look forward to your correspondence,_

_Claudine Gobert_

:

It's like a heartbeat dying out. He's losing him. The mouse pointer hovers between delete and reply.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: So here we are, the last part…except no I decided to write one more part after this. I swear that will be the absolute last. I hope you enjoy this one though!

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**Part Ten**

He gets his P45 and a letter from Louise, full of typos, as a courtesy, to say all his current models have been transferred to Nancy until a replacement can be arranged. Once again he's threatened with legal jargon about stealing any of the models if he dares try and start his own agency. He has no intentions of doing that. He has hardly any money since paying off Matty and he has enough self respect left to know going up against Warren will only end one way.

On the day he was dropped he headed to a bar and got completely wasted before staggering home. He was stood outside his own front door when he was mugged, phone and wallet completely gone. Gone too was any hope in hell of contacting Steven. He had to start again with an empty address book and a new phone with a new number. Brendan had sunk to the bottom, lonelier than ever. He couldn't face the misery of turning up at Ste's apartment not knowing how he felt. Feeling old and pathetic, like a stalker who couldn't get the hint. Brendan was a nothing now, a complete loser, and if word got out – according to Warren – a complete scumbag. Steven would be better off without him and that's what Brendan resolved as he drunk himself further and further into bitterness. He couldn't imagine that the boy who was rising to stardom and success would want anything to do with him.

Each night the images he'd torture himself with got worse. Some nights he'd dream of Steven naked in his bed, hot to the touch and the open mouthed awe of a virgin. Other nights Ste would be taunting him wrapped around someone else, be it Matty or a faceless stranger and they be laughing at him. Then he'd dream of Steven walking past him on the street as if he didn't know him. That was the hardest to bear – it felt closest to reality.

He had no idea what to do for work and lived off the money he was still sitting on, ringing up old acquaintances to see if they had any work. Even those who he knew would bring nothing but difficulties to his life, such as the shady Danny Houston he was forced to call. He was desperate. He'd arranged to meet with Danny one Friday afternoon for an informal chat about running one of his clubs. He had some experience of that from his youth and it was at least something he could work at anonymously without anyone digging around into his past.

Friday arrives and Brendan makes more of an effort, shaving, dressing to his usual standard. There's a knock on the door just around lunch time, before he is due to leave. Thinking it's the post he shouts for them to leave whatever it is on the doorstep. But the knocking doesn't let up and his mood has reached a bubbling peak of irritation so when he pulls open the door his face is gnarled ready for confrontation.

The face he meets is not the one he expected.

"Steven," he says, face falling like a shirt losing its creases. He holds onto the door for support, head swimming. "What are you doing here?"

"A 'hello' might have been nice." Ste's chin looks more pointed like he's ready for an argument. It's tilted, arms folded and jaw tight. He's not dressed up like when Brendan last saw him a fortnight ago. His hair's fluffy-flat under the grey of his hoodie and he's in slouchy clothes that swamp him.

Brendan shakes his head to clear it. "Sorry," he says, "D'you wanna come in?"

Ste nods, pushing past. In their brief moment of shared body heat, Brendan wants to bang his head against the wall, crying in frustration, that he's already ruined things between them by not making the effort to find him and explain. Instead he absorbs the disappointment of two and follows Ste into the living and kitchen area.

"Nice place," Ste says and perches on the arm of the sofa like a child. Brendan's about to wince with social niceties, pretending they haven't fucked, and ask if he wants a drink. He's sure all he has to offer is whiskey or red bull. His kitchen is a tell-tale crime scene of self-destruction and neglect. But Ste snaps suddenly, looking at him and continuing to talk. "D'you know how hard it was to find out where you live?! I had to interrogate every model you've ever been with. I spose you putting it about helped me track you down." He pauses. "Most of them are real arseholes, you know that?"

Brendan exhales, nodding a weary smile. "I know."

"So are you gonna tell me why you slept with me and then next I know you've quit the agency and your phone don't work. Apparently. I mean why else wouldn't you let me know what's going on?!"

Brendan sits, resting on the arm of another sofa, so they're facing each other.

Ste doesn't let him explain himself as the rage spirals on. "See, I thought you and me were getting somewhere but then I realised I was stupid and you was just using me." There's a moment where his anger peters out and it's like his words are stinging with pain and his throat closes down.

"I wasn't using you," Brendan says. His leg jitters when he's nervous, when he's holding back on things he should say.

"No? Well that's how it felt." Steven's words are acidic, his eyes wet.

"I'm sorry."

"Explain then," Ste says, folding his arms tighter. Even when he's itching with anger, he's beautiful. He shows every emotion in his bones and makes it look flawless – painted. "Cos I got back up here after London and I was bursting to see you. Then I get to the offices and Warren tells me you've just upped and quit, n'that Nancy is going to be managing me and she's got some good news for me and…"

"I didn't quit," Brendan says, softly. "Warren as good as fired me."

"Fired you? Why?"

"He found those photos of you that Matty took. And when he spoke to Matty, he claimed I beat him up until he gave me the pictures for my own private collection," Brendan says. He watches Ste's face change from the hardened defence that he's built up. "Matty played right into what everybody already thought of me. That I'm some twisted scumbag. A pervert."

"He fired you?" Ste repeats, in disbelief at Warren's actions.

"Yeah he fired me and by the sounds of it, he's covered his tracks well." Brendan stands, pacing the wall and scraping his fist against the side of his face. "And I didn't call you because I was ashamed. There you were making great steps into the future and then there was me, a user – no job, no nothing. I even got mugged by some little shit on my own doorstep, so if I'd been brave enough to call ya then I had no number after that."

Ste sits staring at his feet and withered into contemplation. He's used to seeing Brendan in suits but he's suddenly noticing that he's wearing on in his own home. "Do you always dress like that?" Ste asks after they've sat in silence for long enough. Brendan guesses Steven has lost all hope on him.

"I'm on my way to see a man about a job soon, so," Brendan says, glum. He hates the distance that's widening between them. They feel worlds apart.

"Round here?"

"Not really."

"To do with modelling?"

"No."

"Oh." There's an air of despondency, like they've both given up on whatever they had built, unwilling to restart. Ste picks himself up off the sofa and Brendan stands, it's as if this is the end. They're parting. There isn't a fight or a fuck, there aren't any explosions or fire. It's nothing like what they are and what they had. It's a small wisp of steam to finish the blast they had. Ste opens his mouth to speak and with its silence comes a shrug. His head hangs and Brendan watches him leave, lets him pass through the front door.

Brendan watches Ste walk down the steps and pull his hoodie up over his head. It's started to spit with rain. Brendan imagines what it'll be like months from now, apart from Steven. He thinks about how Steven must have felt, from the high of the fashion show and their encounter, to find Brendan gone and un-contactable – how that must have looked. He thinks about how alive Steven made him feel and how running away from the possibility of letting himself fall for Steven, going to work in some poxy nightclub is just prolonging the miserable cycle he's landed in.

"Steven!" he calls, rushing out down the steps, leaving the door ajar. "Wait!"

Steven turns on the spot, loosening his hoodie and pulling it down. "You know, could've come and found me!" The dejection in Ste's voice has evaporated and he's fighting back with the residual anger, the feeling of being dumped.

"Followed you round like some sad, pathetic…when you've got Paris come knocking on your door," Brendan says, now standing right in front of him. He can feel the rain droplets getting larger, flattening his hair.

"Paris?" Ste asks. "How d'you know about Paris?"

"Before Warren had me removed from the building, I got the email from Lacoste with the offer and I replied. I told them you were professional and down to earth and naturally good looking. You weren't like the other model's they'd see. I thought you'd be the perfect match and you deserved a big break more than anyone. I gave them Nancy's contact and…" Brendan raises his hands as if to say 'the rest is history'. He's struck with a blow of sadness finally realising Ste must be here to say his goodbyes before Paris. He could have sworn he saw a flicker of _something_ in Ste's face when he realised Brendan had helped him gain the Paris opportunity, but Brendan wonders if he's just imagining things.

"If you thought that about me then why'd you just blank me out?" Ste says, his face downcast to look at his feet and the cracks in the pavement.

"I didn't want to be the thing dragging you down."

Ste moves closer. Brendan can almost feel the warmth from his body as they stand on the street with rain making his shirt skim his back.

"You're not. You're the one who helped me get here, aren't ya?" Ste gestures with his hands, riled by Brendan's new dismal outlook. "And without you these past two weeks I've been…I dunno, lost. People keep telling me that I'm going places and how good I am. And I'll 'ear a bit of good news and there's no one that I can share it with, not like you. Cos when _you_ tell me that I look good and _you_ tell me that you're proud. Then I believe ya. You made me feel like I'm more than just a model."

"You're so much more than just a model. And all your success is down to you." Brendan reaches out, his hand cupping Ste's rain speckled cheek.

"That night of the fashion show, it were the best night of my life and nothing to do with modelling. It was cos of you." He places his hand on Brendan's chest. His shirt is now translucent from the rain and he can feel Ste's fingers through the damp.

Ste closes the gap between them, pressing his lips against Brendan's and trapping a drop of cold rain in between. For the first time Brendan's lost all need to run. He pulls Steven against him, the rain making their bodies cling to the warmth, and kisses him in a desperate need to transfer everything he feels with it. He traces Steven's hairline with his fingers until they're buried in his wet crop and then he feels Ste's body melt into a shivered moan, his hands moulding around the contours of his body. Ste is just as physical in the way he caresses, hands clawing across Brendan's back and waist. The kiss tastes of water – a mix of their desire's heat and the weather's cold.

Brendan's tongue is still tingling and warm when they break, breaths mingling as Ste speaks. "Take me upstairs," he says. "And come with me to Paris."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: A massive thank you to everyone who's reviewed or sent me a lovely message about this fic. It's lovely of you. This is the final part unfortunately, but I hope you enjoyed. There will be a little something extra posted in the next few days written as a sort of alternate scene from this fic (you'll see what I mean when I post it) but this is the proper end to this story. Hope it lives up to your expectations and you think it's a fitting end!

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:

**Part Eleven – The End**

He's spread out across the bed on a rare day off, licking lips that taste of buttery pastries. Brendan knows Steven's lips taste like the local boulangerie because he's kissed him before, during and after the croissants. Brendan knows it seems like a cliché, everything from the blackest coffee to the desire to take tourist snaps up the Eiffel Tower, but even though they've been there a month, living in a rented apartment paid for by Lacoste, it still seems unreal.

After kissing him through the rain, hands ruffling his hair, Brendan did exactly as Steven had asked: he took him upstairs to bed. He shivered in wet clothes and Brendan eased him out of them. They had become so sodden that they acted like a second skin and when he was naked, Ste had been coated in a layer of goosebumps. Brendan had moved to kiss almost every one of them, whilst shedding his own clothes and positioning their bodies near the warmth of the radiator. He repeatedly apologised for the mess of his bedroom but eventually Ste perched on top of the covers, rubbing his shoulders warm and beckoned Brendan into his arms.

They made love. And Brendan felt the word love find itself in his mind and uncrumple from the years of neglect, from the years of ignoring the possibility. It was too soon to say it, too soon to feel its weight, but it was there as a reminder of its existence.

Steven's body had laid out underneath him, Brendan's hand on the gradual concave of Ste's chest. They smiled more than he remembered being possible, sharing the same air between their breathy kisses. They still tasted fresh from the rain, but heat bolted quickly through their skin as Ste spread his legs and Brendan rolled his hips against him.

Once they coiled up together afterwards, they cleared the air fully. Ste wanted Brendan to at least visit if he couldn't move to Paris and then the question and resolution of the Kevin situation was explained.

"There's nothing to stop us then, is there?" Ste had said to Brendan, growing fidgety with his excitement and kneeling up on the bed. He bowed his head and fluttered kisses along Brendan's chest, stroking his nose against the hairs with a giggle.

"Paris? You want me to come to Paris with you?" It sounded like a dramatic move and Brendan was still blanketed in his own insecurities.

"Yeah," Ste said, nodding but with a stern sincerity on his face.

"I can't be your agent. Warren'll sue me if I take 'business' away from him." Brendan scratched the side of his face and then flattened it against his forehead.

"I'm not asking you to be my agent." Ste didn't let Brendan's distraction tear him away from his enjoyment of Brendan's body. His lips lingered across Brendan's hip bone. "I'm asking you to run away with me…and be my boyfriend."

Boyfriend was a word he'd never used – he'd never had any need to (they'd never lasted longer than a night) – and it jarred there in his brain like new cells, even as Ste shuffled lower down the bed and sucked him off. But in the end it didn't take much for the decision to be lifted from him and decided by his gut. With lips that still tasted bitter from cum, Ste had wriggled up the bed and kissed him.

"I've really fallen for you, right? And I don't want you to be hundreds of miles away from me."

When Brendan agreed, he had to pull on Steven's ankles and pin him to the bed so that he stopped jumping on the mattress. It was hard to believe that this would be the guy whose face would be launched everywhere in a new campaign. But when they arrived in Paris, Ste running his thumb along a line of a French phrasebook, the reality of why they were there hit them both.

In the end, Brendan's private angst about how he was going to get by in Paris with no money was solved for him. He'd met Steven straight after a big test shoot at Lacoste and could see he was bright in the heels, eyes dancing with enthusiasm. He lived off Steven's joy, not wanting to dampen his constant high spirits with his own stresses. He greeted him with a kiss; that was allowed in France and Steven rippled with excitement as he relayed the day's photoshoot.

When he met Steven the next day he was also greeted by a woman who was pencil thin with pointed features. She extended her hand and Steven looked odd, like he was sitting on a secret. It transpired after a few shifty looks that she had witnessed Brendan meeting Steven and had recognised him as a former agent. She had spoken to Steven about Brendan's availability to work.

"So I explained to her that I was passed over to Nancy cos it wouldn't really be right you managing me n'all now that we're dating." Ste had a wild eyed look about him as he tried to catch Brendan up to speed with the lies he'd come up with.

"It's underhand of me to pilfer you from Mr Fox but Ste here assures me you have, currently, no business in Paris?" She was kind in the way she enquired and hopeful, like she wanted him rather than her doing him a favour. With gentle nods of encouragement from Steven, Brendan locked away his pride and followed her into the building for a chat. He let himself presume she wasn't going to offer him a job as a tea-boy and an hour later a contract shook in his hands as he signed up for a role in the casting department of Lacoste.

"Of course," she said, wriggling her nose, "You won't be working together, but you'll find many of us share our work and our personal lives here."

On the way out and slightly giddy, Ste elbowed him. "You know she's dating one of women you'll be working with." Brendan smiled, amused at Ste's surprise at that nugget of gossip.

They celebrated that night – a restaurant overlooking Notre Dame - with Ste admitting he expected Brendan to be more reluctant to take the job, feeling like he was accepting a favour, although Ste kept insisting he had nothing to do with her interest in Brendan. Brendan was surprised too. Shocked at how he'd changed from a self-sufficient lone wolf to someone who had a…boyfriend and ties and roots firmly planted in unexpected soil. He didn't mind accepting a job, on whatever merit, if it meant staying in their new home.

He was sticking to Warren's rules and hadn't heard from him. He wouldn't broach the topic with Steven yet, but eventually he wanted him to push for a better agent. Not that Nancy wasn't good, but he didn't like the idea that Ste was lining Warren's pocket. Knowing now what he was capable of, meant Brendan trusted him even less than ever before.

Ste got drunker that night than he was supposed to and Paris must have wondered who was checking the passports that day. Brendan found it difficult not to get swept up into his childlike wonder at having so much opportunity rushing into his life all at once. He didn't mind so much when Ste tried to catch a piggy back ride from him, but settled for the comforting way Ste tugged on his arm as they headed to the metro.

"Talk French to me," Ste had said, bursting into a snorting laugh when the whispering had failed. He pressed against Brendan at their apartment front door.

Brendan shook his head with a roll of his eyes, taking the easy option. "Voulez vous…"

"I know that one," Ste said, before using his mouth to push Brendan back into the apartment.

: : : : :

He feels the weight of Steven's chin digging into his shoulder. It's a treat to know he's stark naked and bed warm. He's usually banned from indulgent days like these – lying in bed and breakfasts that last until noon – but they're making the exception. He feels Steven's hands creep around his middle, untying the robe he's slung on.

"I know we was gonna go on a boat tour today like proper tourists," Ste says, his erection pressing against Brendan, "But I thought of something better to do."

Brendan needs little encouragement before he's spinning around on the spot and disrobing. Steven backs up, hungrily, his tongue hanging loose. There's a lust in his eyes that Brendan's never seen with anyone else and it makes his dick bulge knowing how much Ste wants him. Panting and teeth bared in a smile, Brendan launches his grip onto Steven's hips and drags him down the bed, sending ripples of bed sheet with him. He rolls him over onto his stomach and traces broad strokes of skin with the tips of his fingers. He's a ticklish little bugger and makes a right fuss of it. Steven squeals loud enough for the neighbours to hear when Brendan's flat palm spanks him across the backside. His flesh is tinged pink and Brendan squeezes handfuls of him, as if to make it better. He pulls apart his cheeks and pushes his thumb against the already loosened hole. Steven curls up against the pressure, prised like a pouncing cat.

He watches as Steven bites into the pillow in a mischievous attempt to conceal his growing pleasure. Sometimes Brendan can hardly believe how his youthful cockiness has turned him into someone so strong and proud of his body, but then he makes sure he lavishes love and attention on him – all over – in case he ever forgets.

He pushes one hand down on Steven's shoulder to steady himself, sheathing his dick with a condom. Steven turns his head on the pillow and even though he can't turn it enough to make eye contact, he smiles in Brendan's general direction. It's as if Brendan sees every smile Steven's ever given him, making him feel worth something, and he glows with it.

The groan stutters from his body straight into Ste's when he breaches Ste's rim and locks inside. The pull doesn't just feel physical, he feels it in his mind too. Meeting Ste is more than he ever imagined for himself, it's a life too good for him to have contemplated from years of shallow loneliness.

He runs his hand along Ste's haired thigh, breathing erratically. Steven's coiled up underneath, writhing and beating himself off. Each noise the boy makes, from his anguished pleas of desperation to a gargled moan when Brendan gets the smack of his hips exactly right, is like a come on for Brendan. He picks up the pace, feeling the sweat prickle his back. The bed frame scrapes across the wall, rebelling to their relentless thrusts. The satisfaction Brendan gets from the way Steven curses and murmurs his name is endless and he pumps harder into him, feeling Steven's body close around him like a fist. His body is brutal in the way it milks pleasure from Brendan.

His heart beat clangs around his head and he claws at Steven's flesh.

"_Fuck!_" Ste cries, his body curving. He jams a fist in his mouth, knees buckling. Brendan rams into him, listening for that change of pitch and Ste's '_God_'s roll into yes's. He gropes blindly for Ste's cock but it's him that comes first, shivering to climax and paralysed by the white heat of it. It pushes Ste over the edge and in a few vicious strokes he's coming over the bed.

: : : : : :

On his birthday, two years since the move to Paris, Brendan sits at his office desk, diverting calls so he can eat lunch in piece. He's already been disturbed by an impromptu song and cake – neither of which he asked for – and when the door knocks again, he groans.

"Yes?!" he calls out, feeling the opposite of how he should be feeling on his birthday.

His mood shifts when it's Steven who appears behind the door. Brendan sits back in his seat, spinning it from side to side. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" he says. He was expecting not to see Steven all day as he was due to be shooting some Lacoste TV commercial.

"Present," Ste says waving a brown envelope.

"I thought I had that this morning," Brendan says, eye lids darkening his irises.

Steven shakes his head and perches on the desk. Brendan's struck with déjà vu. He takes the package from Ste and opens it delicately.

"I wanted you to be the first one to look at it," Ste says, legs swinging, his lip being bitten.

Brendan puts his hand inside and pulls out a heavy wad of glossy paper. It's a magazine and his heart stops knowing what this is. When he turns it over in his hands, he sees it. Steven's on the cover of the magazine. _Bright Young Things: The Hottest New Models About To Take Over The Fashion World._

Brendan's got a new piece for his wall. Something else to show off about. He leaps up from his seat and pulls Steven into his arms and drags a deep kiss from his mouth. It's love and it's pride and everything in between.


	12. Alternative Extra Chapter

_A/N: So if you remember my promise I said there would be a little more to come. This is a nice smutty extra, porn without plot. If Brendan hadn't been interrupted by Jim's call then he would have taken Ste's virginity. So here's a naughty extra for you all and especially Love Out Of Lust for her wonderful passion and kind words. Enjoy!_

_::_

_:_

**Cover Boy – Extra Alternative Scene**

He's given Ste enough alcohol for him to feel it in the air – the buzz of it. He's got all the right words and compliments: he tells Steven he's the "best looking fucking thing in the building" and he can already imagine what it's going to be like to taste him. Not just his mouth – no – he wants him spread right open across the edge of the desk. He's going to be the first and they're both going to enjoy it. He knows it, because he can feel the connection already.

Steven's mouth is slicked red, hung open. If Brendan traced it, it'd link up to be the perfect O. He wants it on his body. Every trembling inexperience of it he wants, before anyone else gets a chance. Ste's a virgin but not for much longer.

Brendan flicks a parting in his fringe, telling him what a good team they make. Steven has moves to make too, in this little game, ones Brendan wants from him. He needs to be chasing the same desire that Brendan's has and his dark eyes suggest he is. He's staring up at Brendan's mouth. If asked he'd say he was mesmerised by Brendan's moustache and he'd colour from the ears and out, because he's imagining what it feels like in intimate places.

Brendan's thumb caresses his cheek and lightly graces his lips. If Steven was used to his ways, he'd open up and suck the tip of his thumb, but it's early days. He's going to have to be taught. Step by step. The thought of clumsy, clammy hands makes Brendan swallow a thick clot of arousal. He removes his hand and touches his own fly. He's trying to be as slow and as fucking patient as he can because there'd be nothing worse than scaring Steven away, but ready he wants to take his jaw and guide him through the moves.

Instead, because he can feel his cock struggling against the front of his trousers, he leans back on one hand and with his other thumb tilted, drags it across the front seam. It barely quenches his itch, just a little vibration of material, but it's enough to get Steven's attention. He makes his moves faster, harder, and watches on as Ste gains confidence, wetting his lips and moving closer.

He needs encouragement and Brendan gives it by running the back of his hand across Ste's neck. He's hot at the collar. Brendan touches Steven's lips, nudging them open and holds onto a breath when Ste's hands pursue his thighs. He can feel his nervous heat thumping through Steven's hands and his brow is lined with concentration. Through a sigh, Brendan speaks. "Come on," he says, letting a smile lift the darkness from his face. The boy's getting there but he looks up in the direction of the office windows.

The blinds are pulled down and even if people _could_ see, Brendan is past the point of caring. "Nobody's around, it's just you and me," he says to Ste and smiles again like this is their own safe secret. He circles his hips to inspire Ste's curiosity but in the end he takes control of Ste's hands and mounts them over where his dick is hidden. Ste's palms start shifting, circling, raising and lowering the pressure. His cupping gets rougher and more confident and Brendan's moments away from saying: _Atta boy_.

Ste's ripe with eagerness to please and Brendan lets him continue, solo, sinking back onto his palms on the desk. Ste inches forward on the seat, working more friction into his motions so Brendan has to breathe through his teeth. "That's good," he says and repeats it just in case Steven needed anymore reassurance.

It's nerves Steven has now, because there's the coughed away giggle at the back of his throat and he's downing the last of his drink. It must be the abandonment of his shyness because before Brendan knows it, Ste's all fingers trying to unbutton and unzip. Before he gets his hands inside Brendan has tilted up his chin. Brendan's eyes are pressed heavy by his lids.

"That's it…" he says to Ste and melts, as Ste's daring fingers get in between his underwear and discover his cock for the first time. He's not so adventurous once he feels the heat and the pulse coming through Brendan's flesh and his hands shake. His gulp is audible once his fingers caress up and down. Something makes him pause and Brendan can see the blush has gone; he's paler. Brendan prays to God that he's not going cold on him.

"I've never…" Steven begins, bottom lip quivering.

"That's okay, that's okay." Brendan's blink is laboured, he feels the delicacy of Ste's innocence wash over him. He brushes Steven's hair back and before he can back out, pushes down his clothes, his dick bouncing free. Ste breathes a laugh, overwhelmed and runs a closed fist along Brendan's shaft. Brendan imagines Steven doing the same to himself at home in the shower and his dick throbs in agony. They're not going to get very far if he comes already.

He's about to tell Ste he'll talk him through it, but to a groaning swell of delight, he sees Steven is making his own route – mouth wide. It's clear he's watched enough movies; he knows what to do. He could use some refinement and Brendan taps his cheek when he's had enough of the timid cat-licks on the head.

"Slow," he says to Ste and extends his tongue and beckons it in broad strokes to show Steven how he'd like it. There's an exchange of smiles and Brendan nestles his fingers into the back of Ste's hair. "See, we make a good team, Steven."

Ste keeps his eyes open and it's stunts like that which make it necessary for Brendan to count ceiling tiles. _One_ – Ste's tongue is like a fucking silky tease – _Two _ – He's kissed the slit before they've even exchanged saliva – _Three –_ When Ste opens up his mouth he's a hot dark cavern promise of what's to come – _Four_ – His cheekbones are like blades when he sucks – _Five – _He's got the pressure just perfect – _Six_ – He's noisy as fuck and wet just how he likes – _Seven_ – He gags just once and doesn't pull away – _Eight Nine Ten Eleven…_

Brendan holds him still and sees the cum seep into his mouth and across his lips. This is all new too and maybe it was too much too soon but Brendan takes a tissue from the desk and offers it. His mouth glistened and - yes – he's learnt fast and swallowed. Brendan pulls him up by the collar and draws him into a kiss. He can feel Steven resist, like he thinks it's dirty, but Brendan's not shy of running his tongue against Ste's and sucking his lips clean.

His mouth is tinged red when they break. Brendan eases off the desk and exchanges places with Ste. He lays his hands on Ste's torso and pushes up until his palms are making rough circles over Ste's nipples. There's a well of inviting flesh exposed by his collar and Brendan's mouth is firm against his neck. With his ear in reach, Brendan circles the lobe with his tongue and feels Ste shiver at its tickle.

"You want me to fuck you, yeah?" He has a dragon's breath in Ste's ear and pushes his hand against Ste's crotch. He can feel the heat from him like a smog. With Steven backed up against the desk, Brendan grinds his palm over the fabric.

"You'll do it slow?" Ste says, a hitch of worry in his voice. "It'll hurt if…" His head rolls onto Brendan's shoulder with soft, shy pants of breath. He's so hard. Brendan wonders how far he's been with another man. It's time to turn it up a notch.

Brendan kisses the corner of his mouth and holds his head in two hands. "It's gonna feel good," he says, "Trust me, hmm?" He gives Ste a warm smile and they nod together.

He gives the go ahead by unbuttoning his fly and letting Brendan ease the rest down. It's unpractised the way steps out of his clothes and he clutches the desk for support. Ste doesn't know where to look now that Brendan's got him naked and he glances away awkwardly when Brendan's hand squeezes his thick cock.

"You like?" Brendan says, laughing low into Steven's ear at the way his affirmation comes in enthusiastic kisses. The increasing loudness of Ste's moans is sending Brendan half crazy and he runs his drawn fingers down Ste's spine and with two hands, squeezes the fleshy roundness of his untouched backside.

Brendan's mouth hungers against Ste's, tongues gliding together, as he runs his finger down the cleft of his arse. Ste squirms in the novel sensation and Brendan's as aroused as hell watching him shiver. He lowers his lips to Ste's shoulder, pushing his shirt aside and kissing. "Turn around," he says, and bends Ste over the desk.

The sight is enough to electrify his senses and there's nothing more he wants than to be right inside fucking him like he's never going to get fucked again. He stands behind Ste, holding his hips just stroking. He could stroke that velvet skin until the end of time and never be bored.

His thumbs play across his arse cheeks, rolling the tender skin in rippled waves. Ste has his head turned and resting on one arm as he stretches across the table top. "Feels good," he says, arousal blurring his voice into something thick and sleepy.

Brendan sees his reflection on the computer monitor disappear as he lowers to the floor.

"What are you…?" Ste begins but his words are lost almost immediately in a groan as Brendan spreads him open with the flat of his tongue.

He twists and buries mouth and tongue against that sweet spot of darkness. He pulls out every trick in the book, rimming Steven into a writhed frenzy. He's flushed, glistening with spit. Brendan sucks on his own thumb, letting Ste hear the wet pop of its exit from his mouth and agonisingly slow, presses it into his opening.

"Fuuck," Ste says, whining and biting his forearm.

"You know I'll stop," Brendan says, loosening him up. He swaps his thumb for a slick finger and hits Ste's spot with just enough ecstasy that the jolt sends papers from the desk crashing to the floor.

"Don't stop," Ste says, angling his position for Brendan's attention.

Brendan rises to his feet and from the bottom draw of his desk he pulls out a pack of condoms and lubricant. He knows what impression it gives but right now it's the furthest thing from his mind. He can't remember the last time he hungered for someone's virginity as much as this.

He warms up the liquid in his hands and plies him with it, promising to be gentle. He will be at first, but he knows Steven's the sort of lad who can take it and who will want it. First, with his hands on Steven's thighs he spreads his legs and caresses the softness of his inner thigh. For someone so young and fair, he's blessed with a lot of hair. Then Brendan takes his hips and rocks their bodies together, his cock nudging the well between his cheeks. He's waiting for Steven's words.

"Please…"

Brendan lines up the head of his cock with Steven's hole and eases in, slower and gentler than he knows how. He'd be more of a bastard if he rushed and it's bad enough he's manipulated the lad into giving up his virginity – this is the least he owes him. Besides, he's so fucking tight that Brendan can feel every nerve being squeezed and sucked inside him. His groan bellows right through his chest into Steven's body and fills the office.

The back and forth starts as a slow, eased rock. Steven shifts his initial discomfort and Brendan's ignores his own blinding need to come and strokes Ste's back, reassuring and kind. It's not false, it's just caring doesn't come without a bit of work.

Brendan pulls Steven back, bending him at a better position and with Ste gripped to the desk for leverage. Like this they hit a pace that leaves Brendan biting back on his anguished howls of pleasure. The whole desk trembles as each pound echoes through Steven's body. His cries are delayed through stuttered pleadings of Brendan's name. He alternates between slow and furious but each thrust is as deep as the last. Steven will be feeling this for days. He'll be waking up in the night in cold sweats imagining Brendan's dick throbbing inside of him. Brendan knows Steven will be back for more. Now that he's been broken in his lust is going to be unquenchable and Brendan will be doing things to him he didn't even know he would enjoy.

Brendan feels his chest tighten and his knees shrink with weakness. He spreads his palms across Steven's shoulders, pressing down on him and making those last thrusts count. He knows Ste hasn't come yet, so he reaches around his waist and beats him off. His own climax shudders through in hot bursts and that spurns faster handiwork on Ste's cock, as he pulls out. His moans swell in Brendan's head and he's close - he must be - because Brendan feels the embarrassment radiate off him. There's nothing quite like fingering a lad when he comes and with his free hand, Brendan makes it happen. Ste's cum coats his fingers as Brendan feels the pull of his spasming muscles close in around his finger.

With a tissue to clean up and to wrap around the loaded condom, Brendan spins a slumped Ste around and into his arms. His shirt is now ripped at the front, exposing a nipple and Brendan thumbs it until hard, also stroking the back of his neck.

"That was amazing," Ste says, still trying to catch up with his breath. "Wasn't it?" There's still insecurity there, he's looking for approval from Brendan's experience and authority.

"Felt good to me." He brushes Ste's hair away from where it's flattened. "Look at you, hey!"

Ste laughs shyly. Brendan offers him back his clothes which are now cold and crumpled. He's drawing a line under this hook up. He's got every intention of fucking him again but if he lets him get too close too soon there's a danger that he'll want more than just sex.

"You want me to book you a cab home?" Brendan asks, zipping up his trousers.

Ste is slightly flustered at the abrupt ending as he tucks in his shirt. "You don't live nearby then?"

The brazenness shocks Brendan and sends a bolt of excitement to his dick. But sense and control take over. "Steven, I'm your boss...I don't think it would look good if I took you home, would it now?" He strokes his thumb across Ste's cheek and notices the mark of dried cum on his chin. It's a welcome reminder of where they stand. "You know my door's always open, don't you?" He thumbs over Ste's bottom lip and it slips inside. Ste's tongue touches the tip and Brendan knows he's got him exactly where he wants him now.


End file.
